Some Thing

The universe, a web without a spider
spins endlessly to Einstein-Newton laws.
Or does it? Would a hunting god not hide her
own young, her own intentions, and her jaws
until the prey approach, relax and pause?
The death we witness never is our own.
Immortal qua experience, we hone
our skills as if we have unnumbered years;
while in the web, invisible, alone,
a something waits for which no prayer atones.

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