Noticed

There it was,

jeweled with water,

the spiderweb in the corner

of my bathroom mirror,

each strand

holding its bead,

holding the shower steam

like it had been waiting

all this time

for me to see it

this way.

I'd looked at it before,

written it off as gross,

as evidence

of neglect,

as the kind of thing

you ignore

until someone else

points it out,

until you're forced

to acknowledge

you haven't cleaned

in weeks.

But this morning,

covered in condensation,

the geometry was undeniable,

the precision was undeniable,

the spider absent,

the work

left behind,

the architecture

still holding

its purpose,

still waiting

for something

to arrive,

to be caught,

to become

part of the pattern.

I didn't wipe it away.

I left it there,

the beautiful trap,

the delicate structure,

the evidence

of intention

that I'd been too careless

to notice,

that I'd been walking past

every day,

that I'm finally seeing

not because it changed,

but because

the light changed,

because the water changed,

because something

about the conditions

made it impossible

to look away.