Duck-egg blue dragonflies,
bows in the air,
mating as they fly.

Segmented stained glass wings
like rained on panes.

Everything beautiful is fragile
because its destruction is feared,
so worked towards.

Swans change state and surprise
when they take off,
how strange to use liquid
as a runway.

There’s something in revisiting,
re-examining to find more
in the same place,
rather than going somewhere new.

Shocking how many years
it can take to do so.

Coot chicks, another thing
I’ve never seen before.

Clean water.

Listen to nature mewl
in different voices and tones,
take it on with its time
rather than imposing your own.

The trees cough birds
like powder from a puff.

A bee crosses my path so politely,
jiggling its bottom,
looking left and right.

We look whole to each other like objects
but are scattered on the inside,
with fluid, undefined borders
and whatever makes us up
uncertain and ever changing.

At night there’s the slightly frightening
aurora borealis of a hot storm
for half an hour before sound and rain.

The woods are having fun with themselves,
unique and suggestive
in their many mottled forms.

Maybe we were only made to imagine.

Offer your broken body up to the stars.

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Setareh Ebrahimi performs regularly, and is a poet working in Faversham, Kent. She is the author of In My Arms from Bad Betty Press.

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