She beckons the sun,
their words in waves.
Wonders if he wants to play—
and if he'll join her
In the hunt
for dragonflies.

Her arms extend,
wings in rehearsal.
She takes on air,
lifts, circles—
wind flickers her firelight hair,
wary of embers.

One hovers awhile.
Crescent eyes
make covetous smiles.
Winged commas hang
between her wiles
and the horizon.

No hurdles in sight,
she grins.
Determined to catch it.
Wordless,
Knees bend,
toes tip.
She creeps—
stumbles—
blinks.

And misses her chance.

Empty hands
shake with wanting.
They rise to cover eyes—
believing that they might
dam the tide
of what's breaking
behind them.

Embers now dim
in breathless wind.
Arms fold. She stalls—
an abrupt descent,
falling into flaring lament,
now molten.

But the sun still raps
on windows shut-
warming what would set
if left cold and untouched.
She opens one eye—
prised by brightness, smiling.

Scattered across a field
of glittered wings, rising,
endless dreams stir
between wake and rest.
No chase this time.

No stumble.
Only light
that does not flee,
but retires
just for the night.
And she says,

"It’s okay."
"I’ll try again tomorrow."