Beneath the hushed and interminable bowl of autumnal sky,
So crystalline blue upon vertiginous high,
Once, in the quiet, euphoric glow of evening I did spy
The slender wing of a dragonfly.
Diaphanous and glimmering as if to be
A whirring memory of some starry night,
Some magnificent phantasm, a silver-spun melody
Of glinting moon and pendant stars, bright
As any dreaming child’s cherished toy,
A thing of amorphous and subtle joy.

A falling leaf whirled to Earth in a striking pirouette,
But even this vainglorious display dared not deter
The gallant dragonfly, for yet
Still fluttered the minute, intrepid wanderer,
His wing beats quick and self-assured
As he yielded to the horizon’s tender lure
For angels fly on wisps of fantasias high
But the marsh belongs to the dragonfly.