Damselflies

(commended by Gillian Clarke at Poetry on the Lake in 2012).

He leads her in the dance above

flat lily-pads and mirrored sky.

He clasps her thorax with his tail

lifts her up, lets her down

to dip and dip and dip her eggs

through the meniscus.

This is their glorious time

laid down in their DNA

was what they both were dreaming of

when as brown nymphs with mandibles

and ugly masks they crept and lurked

among minnows and frondy weeds.

All through that watery year

they dreamt of a day in June

when they’d escape, crawl up a reed,

slough the brittle carapace

push out four glittering wings

and fly! Fly! Fly!

They’ve done their time below

no longer need to grow

but hover shimmy  whir

beneath the sky and show

their sapphires to the world

and make love in the air.