Metamorphosis

I starved for the honey you
promised in the flower of afternoon
and watched a spider crouched
in a hole, wound up like a tight
spring, motionless as a stone.
I saw a lone fly circle the hole
then buzz away, an ant started
to enter and turned back, a moth
hovered low but floated past,
I breathed the crisis of a
baited trap—I did not hear you
until you called my name. Did
you see my fingers quiver at
your approach, feel teeth poised
to strike your veins?