Your hoping one at least one gets through

sneaks in , between the Kevlar and the skin

quietly , out in the savannah, dressed in a big hat,

….probably .

It picks it’s head up, but barely .

That sluggish feeling takes over,

it persists,

… probably.

The fog that settles in fills in the margins, too.

It is magnetic after all, clinging to everything , too.

Those same spiders that bite have names now

and they crawl all around us ,

making various movies

in cursive,

in absentia;

in our bathroom;

Settled in Paris; like royalty.

praying they don’t get picked up,

just waiting for the rain to stop.