Dragonfly

Dragonfly

If I had the eye of a dragonfly,
I’d see the dew slide on a stem,
insect detect as it crawled or flew by,
my gut thrilled to be one of them.

In tropic jungle steam and heat,
I’d wince with each monkey screech,
know the call of each bird that sings.
I would rest on a river,
shimmer, hover and quiver
over its water,
lift my delicate, spindly body
on my thin, transparent wings.

If I had the eye of a dragonfly,
my short life would be quick and brief,
to feed and breed would be all that I try,
multiply my only belief.

Everything’s strange with climate change,
nature’s not natural anymore.
If I had the eye of a dragonfly,
I’d see the dirt in what is pure.

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