Evening Spinners

The morning is caught
In the web of evening spinners
Drips and drops weighing heavy
Upon its strands

And now my head’s fraught
With an array of cosmic innards
Sips and sops waylaying levees
Along the grands

And the strands and the grands
Are all fraught with the wrought
Of Primordial Morning

Photo by Nathan Dumlao on Unsplash