(Casna Studio/Unsplash)

The dragonfly hitches up
     mica wings, one
twitch, settles back to
     watch and wait while

trout subtle as water
     vanish in overhanging
branches to rise again
     as vortex, silt-flick

surface rip, wavelets
     rasping rocks,
replying as glass to glass
     glass through glass,

bending light to make
     a world of whispers
I hear as silence
     counter to itself

in everything that
     almost gets away.

Published in the July/August 2023 issue: View Contents

Brian Swanns most recent poetry collection is Imago (Johns Hopkins University Press), and his latest fiction is Huskanaw (MadHat Press). He teaches at Cooper Union in New York City.

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