by David Allen Sullivan They couple above this still pool, red rusted male in front, four wings blurring the light; butterscotch-colored female anchored to his tail. They careen into grass stalks, then explode across vast distances. The lightness of their bodies, heaviness of my own. Their ballet singes the air with red wheeling fire as his abdomen curls back to hers to fertilize mid-flight--a snake eating its tail. Now they skitter from safe harbor to safe harbor, touching down beneath piers of bent grass. Her tail dimples the pond, dispatching eggs. I want wings to lift me above these waters of regret. I want sunlight charged with electricity— in my eyes, the dew reflects a hundred you's. Photo Credit: DragonFly At Dawn, SEPhillips, Digital Photo, 2009.