The clear stream carried the morning sunlight to the bend
where it disappeared. I waded in and cast my line
to the shallows of the opposite bank, hoping to hook walleye or bass.
After an hour or two of casting and reeling, catching nothing but time,
I was ready to close my tackle box and call it a day,
when, from out of nowhere, a dragonfly landed on the tip of my rod.
Perched in a six-legged grip, it was a blue bloom at the end of a long stem.
The wings, glinting in sun, translucent, thin as a whisper, did not move,
resembling a biplane grounded. Its eyes looked like dark observatories.
Then, as quick as a blue-tipped match struck to life,
the dragonfly lifted, hovering for a moment,
before disappearing into light, leaving me standing there,
the first catch of the day, shimmering in water.
Keith Polette has returned to writing poetry after being away from it, dwelling in the world of prose, for many years. He is grateful to have had his poems published recently in Sky Island Journal, Otoliths, One Sentence Poems, The Offbeat, the Peeking Cat Anthology, The Esthetic Apostle, Typishly, Sonic Boom, and Shot Glass Journal. His book of haiku, The New World, was published by Red Moon Press. He currently lives and writes in El Paso, Texas.