An Afternoon with Dragonfly

I
Come, my Queen;
come, ageless Sovereign and Dream -
I wordlessly repeated,
the words running invisibly over
and over again through my mind.
Come, my Queen …

Sitting in that drowsy, sunny room,
my eyes were closed and
my head drooped,
I marveled at
how I finally understood
and experienced
the still point of the turning world
that Eliot had written about –

all around me, the insistent, incessant buzz;
and with every stroke of her electric brush
she brought me anew
to the still point of the turning world;
with every stroke,
she painted anew
moments after moments
every single moment
in the moments
in my mind -

not just once,
but over and over again
with every electrifying brush stroke,
boldly strong
or
flittingly delicate.


Come, my Queen;
come, ageless Sovereign and Dream -
I chanted over
and over again
in my mind;

and She came
and claimed me.


II
The buzz was my lullaby
as She intoxicated me.

Sometimes
when I felt She would
overwhelm me
She subsided
and left me aching
for more.

The sweetest thing,
the most intoxicating drink –
She was all that
and more.

Don’t stop!
I wanted to cry
to Dragonfly,
but bit my lips
and took what she gave,
less
or more:

I didn’t care
any
more.

Dragonfly gave her all,
I took it all
and let the Queen
intoxicate me
more
and more

and more.


III
This afternoon
in her sleepy, sunny studio,
Dragonfly
left her art,
her mark,
on me.

And when I left her,
I left
with a thing of beauty.