a dragonfly …
with one wild scoop of hand,
then a shout: i’ve got three!
yes, while the moon still is low,
while the sun still is halo to the trees.
and simply their shadows fall green
while catching hoppers on the grass,
or while riding on white butterfly wings
of white bed sheets high in the wild winds.
it is their play,
ghost-play in broad afternoon
where voices hang and float,
as when you kick the ground,
dirt flies and will not settle down.
simply ending after dusk
when mothers call.