(“Bending between the branches…”)
Bending between the branches
I raised a dragonfly
All in a wood of pine it was
That saw a sobbing sky
As I was turning by.
As soon as my feet had found my path
It rose with the startled wind
But then clasped fast
In the aftermath
And for traveling had no mind.
A crowd of leaves was a clattering band
Like chariots through a town
When the roads are rising throughout the land
And the eyes of the watchers understand
That they are now alone.
He might have flown, but he did not move
And I plucked him from his place
Deep were his eye, with red leaves strewn
Around their edges, and Summer gone
Gleamed on his carapace.