to be a dragonfly — to have the sun
on my back as I fly — to have the wind
my magic carpet softly holding the weight of me as I cut
through an afternoon’s air, scented with sunburnt leaves
to be a dragonfly — to be free from the pursuit of beasts
as from rooted immobility — to zigzag my way
between canopies, Aladdin of wooded grassworn cities:
the body my lamp, my wings the hands rubbing to release
instinct of flight inside me born genie eternal —
to be a dragonfly, to grant myself three wishes in the morning
and have them all fulfilled by night.