Not All, Just Too Much

Dart like Bogan’s dragonfly
Into the shadow that consumes you.
You live with the shadow,

Even if later it’s said, will be said,
You died from it. For now
It’s your second home.

You dart back out. Ta-da.
It’s like the shadow birthed you.
You appear out of nowhere.

The availability
Of the shadow makes a new
Airborne lion of you.

You are enough to be
Surprising in the light,
Diaphanous, living dash.

What? Still here?! And then gone
Next moment, flirting with consumption.
Perhaps it’s all visual,

All reflection, that is,
A disturbance in the waves
Of more (light, predator, the life)

And minor (shadow, ambush, ghost),
A meditation. For you,
After all, sleep in the light as well,

And if you’re unaware, still,
Something of you remains in the air
Or will, always part of the shadow.

It’s never a complete loss, never
An absolute consumption.
It’s just too much, sometimes,

The loss of another example
Of an ancient, hungrily beautiful
Pattern in the shadow for good.