They were hovering
like so many demented helicopters
on the verge of the pond
this morning, as if fighting
the humidity that hangs
like a velvet curtain
over summer mornings.
They look little
like the dragonflies
of my childhood imagination
nor of the great beasts
who should once
have roamed here.
We are now
their predators
but the morning sun
no longer dances
on the wings
we have given up.