Dragonfly questions ride
water-weighted air.
No answers blossoming on
the trees today, none undulating
in the crystal run,
where minnows nibble your toes,
nor hidden, semi-precious,
among rounded stones
rattling, tumbling toward freedom
on the river’s tousled bed.
And so you wait—an eddy, collecting
broken artifacts, while others
rush past, borne along by
the same current that deposited
you where you are.
(c) 2019, by Hannah Six
Image: Picryl
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