- Why do we play with words? - She wonders,

- Do we hold the dragonfly’s wings to look through them

and check if the world is upside down? -

She sees translucent wonders by the pond;

a wing is a mirroring experience,

a flight to the core and back,

and the cruelty of torn wings is only

worsened by denial of responsibility.

It hurts.

A few inches from the sleepy water,

in the middle of bromeliads lie

suspended lives in thousands of eggs,

while the slow rhythm of shallow water nurses you,

like a clock ticking through your sleep,

in the oily essence of the afternoon.

She sits there, on the warm rocks,

feeling the aquatic creature in her,

sensing the silent and restless fight

of nymphs. Thoughts swarm about,

growing, waiting for the breeze.

She holds a leaf of grass • a pebble • a flower,

not much.

No distress.

Adult mayflies dance around for a while,

short-lived in the violet sky.

A word • a wing • a stone • a token,

a price to pay, transitioning.