Breadcrumbs

I tuck spiders in at bed, misting their webs in case the night doesn't.

Silently, cautiously, I watch them in the moonlight, spinning silk.

When they've finished, I wish them goodnight and feed the cracks

Gathering along the concrete, spreading between the rocks.

I want roly-polies to know that I love them too even though I can't

Even begin to fathom the magnitude of their terrestrial cities.

.

I like to think, selfishly too, that maybe there is a whole world behind me.

Maybe the folded-up wings healed with hope and superglue remember.

Maybe so does the butterfly resuscitated with hot breath and nectar.

Maybe all the ants carried out in cups, the spiders dangling from pencils,

The moths delicately travelling inside pink cups to make them happy,

Maybe they remember that touch of compassion in a cold world.