Unnamed
like these [damselflies]
perched on pickerelweed lips
like shards of labradorite
hovering over past-selves (nymph
carapaces clung hollowly downleaf
their skeletal chambers ringing
with loon song) here where
purple-flowering spears, newly half-
submerged, crest, and two stillnesses
sway in the wake we’ve made
maybe we—now green in the eye
the way treelight forms (liquidly, in
ribbons, and without warning)—
emerge, as in amber, in time
BEN CURROTTO is an educator, writer, and musician living in Providence, Rhode Island. Read more.