In that
netherland
at day’s
end when
the sun
kisses the tips
of the
waves
Good-night
and
drowsiness
reigns
A
drifting in and
drifting
out
of
reality occurs
and sights
seen
like
bats on the wing
being
ridden
by lithe
silver fairies
are
commonplace
Once a
dragonfly
as big as
my foot
set down
right near
my
resting book
Then, seemingly
bored,
balanced
carefully
on the
edge
of my
glass,
began
sipping
my wine
through
a
green-grass straw
It next
put on my
glasses,
scanned the page
I’d been
reading
before
winging off
through the
gloam...
There’s
just such a
somnolence
settles on
me at
twilight that
makes it
impossible
to move
Especially
when
the
enchanting
begins
to beguile
Why on
earth
would I
want to bestir?
S.E.Ingraham©
A version of this poem appears in The 2009 Stroll of
Poets Anthology
