a cloud of dragonflies
softens the November air
with fluttering fireworks
of light-glinting gauze,
reality meshing into Fairie.

tip-top tree branches lean together
to draw a warm blanket
of leafy roof over the woods,
tucking everything below it
into safety.

dragonflies lie in state
amid faded bones of grass
which keen stiffly
to a summer requiem
carried through the low autumn light
on a rattling train of wind.

a dragonfly
partners with the afternoon wind,
dancing their joy of life
to the reassuring beat
of eternal seconds.
an interrupted glance later,
it has slipped away
to somewhere beyond view,
leaving only the emptiness of air
and emotion.

reeds
admire their necklaces
of clustered sun chips
in a wavering water mirror
as they gossip
in the borrowed voices
of a rustling breeze.

a voice
calls to my mind's ears
from my brain's past
from somewhere in the deep unknowing,
blocked off
and inaccessible
except to it.
its winter chains of words
drag my emotions from me
down the hill
into the little girl I once was
who waits,
her ghost-infected wounds still open
and bleeding lifeless tears.

early one Halloween night
a witch was riding
up to the nearest star.
as she crossed the moon
her broomstick brushed against it,
leaving a trace of magic
that grew,
as magic does.
as the moon rose higher,
its wizard-laced beams
spread over the sky.
where the sky was clear
the broad white rays
blended depth with the darkness
to form a translucent infinity
of seawater,
with flecks of star salt
and evergreen tree seaweed.
where the night was cloudy
sharpened needles of rays
etched a delicate picture
of cameo clouds on a shell sky.
this celestial vision
lasted until the dawn rinsed it away,
hatching its own peacock magic
into the world.