Anisoptera

July 19 2017

The dragonfly

alighted on my chest,

lingering there

like a finely jewelled ornament.

Seconds, that seemed endless

as I stilled myself and watched.

I know how ridiculous it is

to feel honoured

by the blithe trust of its tiny insect brain;

that I am merely surface

in its blinkered world-view.

Peering down

at the perfect symmetry

of exquisitely filigreed wings.

The iridescent body

tapered, weightless.

The complexity of flight

in microscopic muscle, and speed-of-light nerves;

hovering, darting,

balancing utterly still.

Dragonflies are hunters

on the wing.

So I imagined being accompanied

by my own personal servant,

a quiet retainer

who patrols our space

for biting insects, nuisance bugs.

A master class, rarely glimpsed

in the aerial choreography of the chase.

I was shirtless, but felt nothing

on my unprotected skin.

Such a delicate touch, perching lightly

on legs as thin as spider silk.

And in an instant, lifting-off;

its flight, a marvel

of evasion and stealth.