Sometimes I miss
the way we would talk
before we knew each other

so completely and thoroughly. Back
then, though it seems eons
have passed, we would only skim
across the surface of the other, touching

lightly, the dragonflies of our questions
creating the smallest of ripples
on the top layer of the pools
that were us, never close

enough to even guess at
the hidden depths. Oh, but we
were playful, back then, glistening fliers
chasing one another, sometimes-

rarely- truly touching, throwing up wings
to dazzle with color, to hide
ourselves, the parts we were afraid
were disfigured and damaged, the parts

that were the only parts
truly us. Slowly, our eyes strengthened,
we learned to see though our flimsy
shields, we embraced, piece by painful

piece, each other’s hurt parts, misshapen
and deformed though they were. As we grasped how
to see, not only look, I think
we both realized we are not truly

dragonflies. Maybe we don’t even know what
we are, yet. But as the murky
expanses of you slowly become clearer
to me, and our waters mingle, I know I truly

belong here. I would not trade you
for the world, but sometimes I miss
the sun-filled, glittering glory
of dragonflies over shadowy pond, touching

only the lightest of touches, playful
and flirtatious and impersonal
and giddy.