On the coldest nights of January
comes a dragonfly,
luminescent, but yet wary,
sleeping in the sky.
I've seen her many times, my sister.
Tell me you have, too.
Many times I've tried to kiss her,
but ended up with you.
How is it that she flies so high,
while we here walk so low?
I surely do not wish to try--
I only want to know.
She looms there in the stars above,
under midnight's cover.
She watches over us, my love,
when we can't watch each other.
I wonder what her motive is,
if she has one at all.
I wonder if she's being forced--
if she wants to fall.
I know the stars have drowned now,
and I know the night is cold.
I know you're weighted down
by all the loving that you hold.
But I think that she can heal us,
and I think that you will see
that the dragonflies within us
are the ones that set us free.
This one knows us all by name--
our secrets she could tell.
She knows that we are both the same.
And, yes, she knows you well.
The dragonfly of January,
Did you speak to her, my faerie?
Did she speak to you?
Is there yet another life
underneath her wings?
Is it worth the pain and strife
and madness this one brings?
Will she be there when I come?
And you, my fellow fly--
will you stay beside me when I'm
sleeping in the sky?
Just how much loving can you carry?
Will it be enough?
And will it still be January
when you wake me up?