Untitled (“Bending between the branches…”)

I raised a dragonfly All in a wood of pine it was That saw a sobbing sky As I was turning by.

As soon as my feet had found my path It rose with the startled wind But then clasped fast In the aftermath And for traveling had no mind.

A crowd of leaves was a clattering band Like chariots through a town When the roads are rising throughout the land And the eyes of the watchers understand That they are now alone.

He might have flown, but he did not move And I plucked him from his place Deep were his eye, with red leaves strewn Around their edges, and Summer gone Gleamed on his carapace.