Loftily, a dragonfly plants himself
in the ground next to me,
violently brushing my hair and
“My sweet, look at me. I’m still here. I’m alive.”
Illuminant wings shimmer lovelier than
autumn fields, as he
moves them over my neck,
opulent nerve-lightning and sensory flames,
reforming my broken soul,
growing my heart strings.
Ancient orbs, he moves his eyes.
I hear feathered cackles;
up over his head, the robins fly.
See, how he smiles.