Oh dragonfly,
(though we were once that same thing)
we do things a little different these days
we keep our ribbons
coiled
through the summers falls winters
and we look back.
That’s how we know
that when you sprung forth from your pupa shell
over the riverbed through ages now gone—
you were ready to live only to be statued
in yellow amber.
What did they tell your children?
He was a tasteful
dragonfly
and he loved the sun brightly.
He liked to flit about the cycads and
the deciduous trees so new
but the sap
took him in too close
he pulled his legs and he was still stuck and now
you can see him through his window.
Maybe a dragonfly could understand the last expression
on his face
but do not worry
we have taken all those millions of years
and spent them cutting loose from the instincts that bound us
to what we were
and we’re learning more
and understanding less
and we’ve decided now that we will not love the sun
anymore
like he always did.