208. A Noiseless Patient Spider

A NOISELESS, patient spider,   
I mark’d, where, on a little promontory, it stood, isolated;   
Mark’d how, to explore the vacant, vast surrounding,   
It launch’d forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself;   
Ever unreeling them—ever tirelessly speeding them.            
And you, O my Soul, where you stand,   
Surrounded, surrounded, in measureless oceans of space,   
Ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing,—seeking the spheres, to connect them;   
Till the bridge you will need, be form’d—till the ductile anchor hold;   
Till the gossamer thread you fling, catch somewhere, O my Soul.   

Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass

 Tomás Saraceno, 14 Billions (Working Title), 2010


  1. http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Tqf1Cppiw-U/Svr4Iqif9qI/AAAAAAAAAK8/bTFCk36I0rQ/s320/narwhals.jpg

  2. i knew that would draw you out from the wall, flower! xo