I saw a photo today
a dragonfly clinging
to a stalk of fern, neatly
hidden in summer fans.
I wonder what artist
sought to secure
her in repose.
I think of you,
how your lens captures
a world I would not know
but for your hands.
Mornings blanketed
beneath ginger mist,
diaphanous film
floating through trees,
a honey bee hovering
over cobalt blooms.
I want to frame
the chrysoprase frog
resting in the corner
of a green window rail
and hang it above our bed.
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