Transformation
It came,
piercing the bright air
above the garden
with a sudden presence,
the first dragonfly
of the season. It darted
and hovered over me,
glistening in a spellbinding
grid of movement.
What was weighted
down and stuck
in the sludge
of a long winter reached
after its fleeting shadow.
Shackled forms hiding
in the weedy depths looked
upwards towards
a transformation.
Somewhere near,
fragile wings began to unfold
in the shape of a prayer.
Copyright © Paul Willason | Year Posted 2023
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