Weaved and white
like left on the black carpet
in an oblique ray of asleep light
There was an inner movement
a silken ripping
a fine breathe in the twilight tranquility
The spider has spread the cocoon
Her translucent legs slowly unfolded
Quivering like one hand of a dying woman
She opened her eyes
One by one
Revealing eight pearls black and rooted
Then she breathed the night.
Ichtya was born.
(pictures taken by me)