The dragonfly danced his drunken zig-zag

above my backyard grass,

forth and back,

until he tacked, one last time

and settled on a solitary dandelion ,

his electric blue and red body glowing against yellow.

There he lit, wafting on a light breeze

as though by destination made divinely manifest,

he’s found his provenance.

Had he a map?

A GPS?

A deep knowing of his destiny?

A gut sense of home at last?

Nah!

With the rest of us, he shares

a vagabond, bedouin drift,

discovering his forever place at last,

temporarily,

until the next wind rises.