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Blue Civet (or Blue Damselfly)


The rough blue lake

Is a van Gogh of the sky


When out of the blue

That surfeit of blue

Soars a little blue friend


An old summer friend

On a sortie of nostalgia:


The blue civet.


And I almost say hello!

To this fond and faithful damsel


When its level glide 

On barely visible wings


Brings it to my pole tip

Where it perches for a breather

Just as in my boyhood.


That pin pulled out of the sky

In its handsome electric blue!


With its dated futuristic look

Of starships in old sci-fi films.


I remember one alighting

On my sunburned shoulder


With no desire for my sweat or blood


Maybe for only a tear of emotion—

Until I considered the horrid little face.


I remember their blue squadrons

 Over the mantled midday swamp


Like ineffectual U.N. peacekeepers

Amid the dogfighting dragonflies.


I remember—


And then it’s off

Cruising over the water


Like a two-inch blip

On the color screen of the world.


The father of the man.


The child of the father.


And between them—what?


Maybe only a single cast.


Maybe only a dream.


Maybe only the hyphen of a blue civet.

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