The Dragonfly   in unrhymed and unmetered quatrains   The dragon flew in low, skimming the surface of the river.   Wings outstretched, he gently maneuvered through each bend.   Our radar did not detect him. I think it was the rain   Masking his outline, maybe a bug in the software.   Regardless, we did not see him coming. He rose above us,   His massive shadow blotted the sun, darkened the sky.   Not a single man even tried to make a run for the turrets;   We knew we were too late. We took one deep breath   Before the fire arrived. I turned for a last glance at your face,   placid, neutral, unchanged. It could just as easily have been   A dragonfly hovering over your head. I craned my neck up   But I no longer saw the monster. Your visage was etched   In my sight. And that is how I will always think of you   Until the day I curl over and expel my last, shallow breath:   Lock of hair falling across one eye, the paper of your skin drying with age,   Oblivious, at least unresponsive, to the terror descending all around you.