for Nicholas
You found in sun-patch
the gleaming double-eye
of a dragonfly
pinched green bead
you held in the small clam
of your cupped hands
the bright sheen
water-smooth depth of it
found only in the like
of the patient
long lay down of—
the seventy times seven
times grace of nacre
applied as faithful prayer is
to the predicament
of nature. You
were adamant we make it
something precious
so we set it in
a little ruby ring box
to keep it safe—but when
we came back to it
the lustrous iridescence
had died as all
live fires do
confined in the small dark
compartments of our days.