The Cobweb in  General   

A few minutes ago, I stepped onto the deck
of the house. From there I could see and hear the water,
and everything that's happened to me all these years.
It was hot and still. The tide was out.
No birds sang. As I leaned against the railing
a cobweb touched my forehead.
It caught in my hair. No one can blame me that I turned
and went inside. There was no wind. The sea
was dead calm. I hung the cobweb from the lampshade.
Where I watch it shudder now and then when my breath
touches it. A fine thread. Intricate.
Before long, before anyone realizes,
I'll be gone from here.

By Raymond Carver

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Other poems by Raymond Carver:

• An Afternoon
• Bobber
• Fear
• Happiness
• Late Fragment
• Photograph of My Father in His Twenty-Second Year
• Stupid
• The Best Time Of The Day
• The Cobweb
• The Current
• The Scratch
• What The Doctor Said
• Your Dog Dies