Two dragonflies engaged
            in sexual trance -
            tails cocked to heaven

            the one crumpled, askew.

            Black fuss
            with gauze shawls

            they grew -

            and the sun rolled around the sky
            its fevered, exasperated eye.

            "We're gonna die! We're gonna die!"
            The cicadas screamed from the glade.

            Cottonwood shrapnel made haste
            for the pool

            And when I opened the door again
            they were gone

            two bullets, tardy and beautiful.


Copyright © Juli A.Kroll, 2002.  All Rights Reserved.