Current Issue About Editorial Note Archives Submitting Links		J.R. Solonche A Dragonfly A dragonfly comes into my field of vision. It hangs motionless a moment, two moments, then leaves the way it came. Or was it a thought? No. Thoughts do not have such transparent wings. Thoughts do not leave the way they come. Above a Host Above a host of titmice & chickadees, one jay, the bulk of any four or five, bulls its blue into the black circle of seed, scattering tit- mouse & chick- adee all around like cinders from a blue flame. Now that's what I call respect.   Next Poem
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