The dragon-fly hunter —
today, what place has he
got to, I wonder…
Chigo, 18thC
Dragonfly summers we lived
Bug-bitten and alive,
Our laughter the freedom of children.
But now,
The accordion sounds of memory
Fold over the flute of dreams, clear and distant,
And I thread these spirit-dreams
Woven from myth and chaos.
“Ice needles, bluer than the dawn”, I said, “like your
eyes.”
And could not understand why
You chose to feel so hurt.
Oars flashed like swords in that sunset,
And now the brown-skinned children of this afternoon
Skip unconcerned past the sleeping dogs.