Long silver strand spins forth to absence of color, a nothing . . . streams through emptiness from the abdomen of a spider smaller than the smallest cry of non-existence.

The single filament extends, bends through time, and after all years, crosses itself, intersecting in eternity, glowing faintly, making darkness and light. The bounding line moves, and the spider moves along the line, marking the selvage of this universe and galactic involutions as the logic of replication proceeds with incomprehensible mathematic unity.

Lustrous woof across warp forever, intricate grid, time folded into double helix, Arachnea spinning madly . . . Alpha Centauri.

Billions of silent, glinting spiders stand poised over delicate web, watchful and motionless, until a shiver transits the light-bent continuum. It is the leap of a far distant spider, ogygian leap, a gravitational wave causing other spiders to leap, and to remain momentarily suspended in space before landing to await the next ripple in the fabric. Each leaping creates another wave of pure energy, each wave a new history.

Wordless spiders, ever vigilant, seek new cosmic sounds to interpret stellar spider ancestry, as sons try to set right the blood spilled by fathers, and daughters to love what has been unloved by mothers, that all may hope to rise. A kaleidoscopic vault of resplendent lights above, eyes closed, see spider stars act your night sky.