POETRY Starry arms, the Cosmos, don't own your time, instead, it is borrowed. Hence, the time we weave with desperation. Laid out, terms of the contract, out in plain English. Continues does life. At the end of the spider's thread. A barn's floor where all miracles manifest, the stupor of wonder. Behold the slowish swivel of sparkling love, gather does dreams in her arms. Silk cloth of sensation a star-filled canyon with lake and sky and comforting walk wall outside craggy dr