Cellophane wings beating against the heavy summer air, back and forth, all day long, the blue dragonflies chase one another across the pond- their tails turned up like neon scimitars poised for a ****** that never seems to come. Occasionally, a truce is called, and they settle into place on opposite sides of the reeds, momentarily oblivious to their war. Twice their size, the red dragonfly idles in the sun. From time to time it leaves its perch to challenge the silhouette hanging from the iris blade, its spent skin, as if it were a bad memory rising from the green depths of the pond. Below the surface, the fish school together- a current of gold slipping between the lily pads, each aware of its place in the stream. My reflection circles them all. Drawn to the water that both mirrors and obscures I lose my place for a moment- hovering between obligations and idleness on cellophane wings.