shot glass
"... brevity is the soul of wit ..."
- William Shakespeare

James Scannell McCormick

Page 1 | 2

Jay in Dragonflies

How did they know to come, little love, know to
Hover in your yard, Klimt-gold in first September? How

Did they—subtle-winged as your caught breath, clever-
Bodied as the slim fingers flared from your

Poised hands—know to find you? Light as finger-bones, they drowse
And whir above long spoiled iris, half-wild climber rose,

Toppling stonecrop. You, newly seven, hold
At the lawn's browned edge, at air's stilled

Edge, catch in your soft-browed eyes each beating creature,
Thrumming, afloat. Your heart, like them, darts, thrums—four

Times, maybe—then you throw yourself among them, stand
In wing-quick light. They throng you, kind to kind.

—for my nephew