Poetry Clinic: The Angel Of The Web

Checking into the Poetry Clinic this month: an experiment in poetic form, a villanelle—a meditation on synchronicity called

The Angel of the Web

I sing the Angel of the Web
who holds us in her fatal lines,
and celebrate her golden thread.

Whom men call Fate, this Angel braids
her cord, our disparate lives to bind.
I sing the Angel of the Web.

Let all the quick and all the dead
praise she whose spindle all entwines
and celebrate her golden thread.

Her hand at word when tears are shed,
when lovers meet, when two words rhyme;
I sing the Angel of the Web

who wove the paths of wed and bred
in chance and red, in spunk and spine,
and celebrate her golden thread.

I see no tree of branches spread,
but warp and woof in needle fine;
I sing the Angel of the Web
and celebrate her golden thread.

Comments? Criticism? You know whut ta do, dawg.