Dragonfly Moon

The Dragonfly moon hovers,

clinging on to the edge of the sky,

as the light bends,

eluding the rough walls of a cottage

standing forgotten,

unnoticed by design,

in a forest clearing.

Transmutation creates its own medium,

a pocket in time,

its hot wind carrying scents

and sounds…

the whispers of the alchemist

speaking gently to coax the madness out of hiding.

The hammer holds the beat

and the metal sings out in the ecstasy of becoming

and rising out of the half light of glowing coals…

the Dragonfly.

Its wings of glass

puzzlepieced together and bound with threads of crackled gold

shining coolly.

Draw closer,

slowly…

slowly,

and see them spread mandorla layered,

beaded,

faceted,

and read the messages in the lace.

Soon joined by another,

and another,

the air dance is begun,

and the alchemist weeps and laughs

to see their murmurations,

as the windows burst

and the wildsweet winds

billow out to meet the night.

The ballet continues spinning,

spilling over into the theater of the rising moon,

black against silvery white,

and they rise like like tiny dragons,

like stars

until faint and far…

The fires banked and the magic unwinding,

ticking,

cooling into dormancy,

and there stands the spent and trembling alchemist,

with face still damp,

spellbound and spell enthralled,

the after images flickering in his eyes,

watching,

waiting,

in ardent vigilance,

under the gaze of the Dragonfly moon.

©jayetomas2015