Dragon Fly

Dragon Fly
It’s wind under my wings.

Swirling, lost, fleeting, moving with purpose from nothing to nowhere.

Untouchable, insubstantial, stronger than the weight of everything

On this turning, shrouded planet.

 

It’s wind under my wings, my wings

Of gold, like frozen sunlight,

And black, like burnt, sticky moon,

Fluted edges tilted against the sky.

 

It’s wind around slick speckled scales

And jagged claws

And a tail ready to beat some sense into the world.

I wish I was strong enough to do that.

 

It’s wind, already gone, smelling of places I wish I knew.

I see them below me, nameless dots, starry cites, patchwork fields pleading for relief.

Roads raise rippling heatwaves, seas drench the sky, fogs drift up to meet me.

The wind comes and goes, but always it breathes, bearing me up and above.

 

It’s wind behind me.

Lost forever, going, going, gone, any shards scattered.

Eyes blank, now, glazed in my shadow.

They’ve forgotten, and they’re not going to remember.