Lakeside

The world 
today
is much too tender 
a thing 

With every song  
in the car
pulling too wide
or too near

And so I stop to watch
the dragonflies 

darting about
their sanctuary  
of light 

Not so frantic
that they don't
pause, mid-
spin

And I
with them

Feeling less
and less  
like the baby bird

for whom the sun
is too flush

and the moon
too thin

Pushing up
its tiny mouth
for the plump
of a worm

or a gulp
of hot air