Photo by kalai venthan gopal on Unsplash

Here at the top of the pond I’m trying to pull grass
without damaging moss on the fountain stone,
and realizing the futility of my task.

The stone is warm and my attention drifts.
Grass forgotten, I think of dragonfly, remember
last summer, how it came to this rock, landed
and stayed.

I rose as it sat, and walked to the tall-fenced veggie patch,
Dragonfly soon sped by, fast-fluttering black dot wings
carrying it to the edge of the trees.
But as I open the garden gate it flew in ahead of me.
I could not stop a fancy that it was teasing me.
To dismiss the possibility of such interaction.

Dragonfly did not leave the garden through the gate with me,
choosing to fly high, to the top of the fence and over,
and I lost sight of it among a crowded grape vine clinging.
Sunshine now intense and unwelcome on my shoulders,
I made my way toward the patio.
Dragonfly sped past and on its way to the pond.

Now I’m questioning about this day. Where are the dragonflies?
Frogs are here, toad is tucked away somewhere among the gardens.
Birds and bugs, music and buzzing, but sadness hangs over
without dragonfly.

June 2021