Archaic Araneae

They were under the brittle stone tabs by now.
But to crumble their homes,
To kick at the foundation pillars,
And to have it all collapse into itself,
The walls to close in upon the cobwebs,
And to make their laces crumple up.

Each finger fans in and
If I leave my hand still just for long enough
A spider might come.

And each will compress and refract,
An undulating tremble,
Together then apart,
The sticky lace,
Woven around,
As it matrix scrambles for comfort,
Up my arm and to hide in the crease of my elbow.