Oxyacetylene-eyes  

crave to flame-throw ire 

but if there is one thing Harper knows 

it is how to bide time.

.

        Up!

.

The Bully demands 

as Harper - ngghh, manfully struggles to stand, 

shock having ahem, unwomaned her. 

The entrailing beams hold no weight,  

no, none - whatsoever 

but the sight 

lends lead to her fear. 

She quivers as fish will s h i v e r 

when trident  

ruptures silvery skin. 

She is both harp and 

and harness-harpooned  

and Fear urges urgent surging

         to sunder.

.

        This is your Harp, 

the bullying spider elucidates. 

        Connected to Heart.  

        Connected to Stars. 

        Grounded to Earth.  

        Magnifier of Power.  

        Do you understand?  

 .

Harper nods, dazed and dizzied.

.

        It is a Great Gift.  

        One long denied.  

        Will you Play now 

        or will you succumb  

        to Madness again?

.

I will play, Harper accedes quaveringly 

not because you  

will it but because I  

Will it.

.

        That is exactly as it should be.

.

Yet you may not like my playing?

.

        You will play what you feel prompted  

        to play. Whatever asks to be, should be.  

        There is no right or wrong way. All ways 

        are fitting IF the one who plays is Connected.  

        And you will have guidance.

.

Guidance? From you?

        Oh dear. Hum. No. No. No. They  

        will aid. I will watch. All will wait.

.

Harper peers up, sceptical.  

The comets are strung-leashed 

like fireflies  

a wicked child has thorax-threaded. 

They will aid, she repeats, for comfort 

then raises strong hands  

designed for Power. 

She plucks a note, shyly  

experimentally cautious. 

The note leaps out         eager a sudden-flung firework 

Ahhhhhhhhhhhh, it sighs 

as it resonates 

                        climbs. 

Comets tighten leashes, alive to arrival 

towing Harper en-pointe 

her flesh electrified 

and ahhhhhhhhhhh, she joins in  

perfect counterpoint 

while waves of sound float mermaid hair,  

Sargasso-like. 

As the sound recedes, leaves  

for distant shoes 

comets list and Harper sags, tired-elated. 

That, she whispers, was one 

one lone lonely note.

.

        Indeed, 

rumbles the Arachnid 

        and look what you have wrought.

.

Eyes blurred, heart full-filled 

Harper gazes where spider gestures 

then she frowns,  

mystified. 

Have stars  

fa l l e n      from sky? 

Do they slink in now,  

encircle? 

She riffles unwanted tears  

shakes head, refocusses, more gentle - 

No, nothing celestial 

but a constellation, nevertheless 

a creeping glinting of  

innumerable  

eyes.