A dragonfly swoops into the patio,
alights on the side of my knee.
Its feet anchor on the folds of my pants.
Its wings flutter and spread for balance,
like a fragile trill on the tip of a musical note.
We maintain this odd equilibrium,
the dragonfly and I,
in a bizarre companionship.
From me, it asks nothing more
than safety and a stable perch.
No conversation,
no ideas,
no creativity,
no answers,
no vigilance of language or gesture,
no energy.
Just being.
Just being me.
We commune,
the dragonfly and I,
for more than ten minutes,
content in the momentary symbiosis,
my time an insignificant thank you
for the innumerable mosquitoes it has consumed.
I must coax it away, in deference to my day’s agenda.
Finally, as my fingers disturb the folds,
the dragonfly zigzags off,
leaving me quieted and serene.
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