Elegy

For the Slaty Skimmer

Strung on silk,

Libellula incesta,

you hang

as from a cross

wings out

spread but still.

Dancer of air,

wearing blue

like a tuxedo,

you once perched,

patrolled, hovered,

pivoted and spun

round challengers,

balletic wrestlers

in a theatrical show.

Now in spider’s

embrace, your

color blanching,

you startle still:

your veined wings

shimmering

holy light.