They wrap around me

like invisible spider silk,
encompassing my being
with more threads than
I can possibly know
or even hope to count.
They were spun 
in the separation of gravity
from the rest of the birth process.
They were spun in the RNA world.
They were spun by the spike-furred
little animal that retreated, terrified,
into the trees to escape the
carnivorous wrath of the saurians.
They were spun by the hungry woman
using her lousy spine to stand up in
the tall grass.
They were spun by the tribes making
epic journeys through
landscapes of sun-blasted cruelty
and ice-stormed
mercilessness.
They were spun by
desperate men and women
casting away
all they had known
and running to embrace
glittering promises.
And they are now spun by
multitudes of strangers
from every landscape
ever known
and every time ever experienced,
and I spin my own web for them,
(although neither of us knows it),
and they are just as entangled in my
blind struggles
as I am in theirs.