Solely on Tuesday, with the sawgrass still damp,
The air blew thick with dragonflies.
As they whirled and planed even the children
Stood awed forgetting to be afraid.
Unlike flocks of birds there was no precision
Or rhythm to their movement.
Only a desperate hum of energy
And a chaos of iridescent wings.
Despite such a sublime spectacle
The next day it was relieving to find the air still,
The sky colored only with cloud and shadow
Leaving the troubling and beautiful display
Distant, as an unresolved memory.
James Healy