Organic mixed media artwork by Kay Sexton
I'd Tell You What I Said but I'm Not Sure You Want to Hear It
The diaphanous wings of a dragonfly
can be moved independently, rather than as pairs.
The number four is significant: four wings,
four styles of flight, four ways of lift. I have,
for some reason, always feared that number.
It feels unlucky. My confession, for this reason,
takes more words. They hang in space between us,
hovering; I cannot take them back. They come at a cost—
but I can't tell who will pay it. When dragonflies mate,
it is precise and choreographed. I cannot control how
my words will be received, nor how our careful dance
will change as we move forward. Even as a poet, I cannot
match the ruthless efficiency of a dragonfly as it hunts:
nothing wasted or out of place. Perhaps this makes me
a failure. Dragonflies inspire art, poetry, technology.
We grasp for ephemeral things, trying to capture them
so they can be understood and loved. Please, just listen.
