Predators

One dragonfly
sits motionless on his
lookout post, much like
a military helicopter,

all set for a sortie.

I meditate
to find suitable words
for my verse,

yet have no multifaceted eyes
as yours, no spines on legs
to scoop out fresh ideas
from fleeting thoughts.

So I will feed on you, instead;
the clean paper will peek through
your flimsy wings.

You may, in turn,
hold me inert
in your firm grip.

My wingless images

will be falling prey

to the fierce jaws
of a dragonfly.