Such a lovely dragonfly . . . ah, very well,
I was too near after all — too near,
too long . . . but what are time and space in the garden?
and this newly planted cedar stake . . .
the bleeding wound it makes . . .
and the ground, which still remembers how to heal . . .
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Categories: New Poems & Pieces
Tags: Dragonflies, Earth, Poems, Poetry, Solitude
William Michaelian 