Adam Reincarnate

A dragonfly glistens
in the tall reeds,

corrugated eyes washed
bright with nitrogen,

pheremone fragments
ingesting the atoms

of spring. Its scaled
sleeping-bag skin glows

in the sunlight, the warm
breeze a scented promise

from the split channels
of earth. Look: it flies,

loops, settles on grass,
re-aligns itself to the

warm embers of daylight,
its biro-shaped stomach

wrapped in a heat-seeking
coat. Listen: he spins

an electro-magnetic love
song, sends high-frequency

waves above and beneath
the water's calm surface,

a radio pulse, a transmission,
set to the waveband of a

far-off lover. I watch him
from beneath a sycamore tree,

Adam reincarnate, a delicate
spindle entrancing the morning.

I entice him on to my hand -
this fragile duplex - let him

stand for a while and groom
his tardis-like head.

Then, at last, his secret
lover answers his call.

She emerges from cool water,
a damson coloured pin

awakened by his song.
She follows the song,

dances, her wings delicate
veils, enticing, arousing

the soft plates of his
translucent skin, and they

vibrate the air, spinning,
looping, darning the tall reeds

with their sonar melodies.
I stand beneath the sycamore

and shed all willingness
to doubt. The ancients had

a name for it - shift-space
of the afterlife.