…like dragonflies
threading light
over meadow and pond;
their translucent wings,
blue water,  noon sun,
a harmony of motion,

At the shore
rushes spill pollen
into the wind,
the tides drop debris
that dots the foam.
A gull dives in,

grabs lunch, flies off
in raucous song.
Sea-scented twilight
arrives on lavender wings.
Calendars, seasons,
commuters headed for home…

the myth
of perpetual motion.
Planets dragging
their moons orbit the sun.
(Even in darkness there is light.)
Ever searching, we are in constant flight.