Fresh, is this
September morning.
The welcomed coolness
condenses dew
on all things green.
The afternoon hours
are warmed by the sun,
and a red dragonfly
lands on my notebook—
tilts his head twice,
wants me to write about
the pulsing,
red and black segments
of his slender abdomen,
and the way the sun
shimmers through
his netted veins.
How many more days
will the dragonflies,
zipping for insects
overhead,
sail their shadows
upon my page?
© 2014 Richard Havenga
Read about another "literate insect" @ page thirteen August 28, 2013.
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