Dragonfly

A dragonfly hovers overhead
and my half-year old son
lifts his arm to the sky
reaches for the bug.

It’s a gesture of pure intent,
energy forced upward.
Think sunflowers,
the arched rise of a bottle rocket.

The sun gleams his fingertips
glows his mass of penny-brown hair.
I think I must have wanted this all my life:

a small green yard,
this solid little boy,
a coppery light touching
everything he’s near.