An inconspicuous love poem

I was looking for an A.R. Ammons poem, Autonomy,  about a love that feared losing the love so much that the speaker chooses to live without that love.  I used to have it memorized and one line has been escaping my memory.  I wanted to fill in that blank.  I'm not there, but that poem keeps coming in my head as I think of someone else who might be there.  

I found this poem, copied from another book, marking my other favorite poem by Ammons.  I realized it is really a love poem -- love:  a web, perfect, adaptable, and each one unique.  (I love Ammons's use of nature/science in his poetry).  

So, here is my Valentine, posted, because despite all my talk of letting go of fear, I fear violating a space I promised to not invade until invited.   Yet, this is my space, where you voluntarily choose to read the thoughts of my heart.    Besides, love and Valentines should be shared boldly, not hidden and hoarded.  I could even say it represents how my love for many of you is unique, like each spider web, as  I sneak this into my blog, just as Ammons sneaks love into the middle of this poem about spider webs. 

Identity

A.R. Ammons

1) An individual spider web

identifies a species:

an order of instinct prevails

through all accidents of circumstance,

though possibility is

high along the peripheries of

spider

webs:

you can go all

around the fringing attachments

and find

disorder ripe,

entropy rich, high levels of random,

numerous occasions of accident:

2) the possible settings

of a web are infinite:

how does

the spider keep

identity

while creating the web

in a particular place?

how and to what extent

and by what modes of chemistry

and control?

it is

wonderful

how things work: I will tell you

about it

because

it is interesting

and because whatever is

moves in weeds

and stars and spider webs

and known

is loved:

in that love,

each of us knowing it,

I love you,

for it moves within and beyond us,

sizzles in

to winter grasses, darts and hangs with bumblebees

by summer windowsills:

I will show you

the underlying that takes no image to itself,

cannot be shown or said,

but weaves in and out of moons and bladderweeds,

is all and

beyond destruction

because created fully in no

particular form:

if the web were perfectly pre-set,

the spider could

never find

a perfect place to set it in: and

if the web were

perfectly adaptable,

if freedom and possibility were without limit,

the web would

lose its special identity:

the row-strung garden web

keeps order at the center

where space is freest (intersecting that the freest

"medium" should

accept the firmest order)

and that

order

diminishes toward the

periphery

allowing at the points of contact

entropy equal to entropy.