Poetry | Transparent | Mary Ann Schaefer

Transparent listen
She's been seen
lately looking twice,
sometimes shadowboxing

in flammable daylight,
self-consciously bugling
some sort of fox hunt for 

this creature someone 
else saw between blinks,
terrible and yet

resplendent.  But
without any track,
no scent, no doubtless

proof, she closes
her eyes and dreams
in screenplay for

the creature to
incarnate  ... what's
there?!  Some some-

thing with dragonfly
wings always darting
along periphery then

escaping notice just
as she fixates, her
silhouette framed

at the window by
gauzy reflections
of nothing, a frothy

sea of brainless
jellyfish passively
drifting by, opening

and closing umbrella
bodies with medusa
tentacles trailing

20, 30, sometimes
100 feet. No matter,
no such creature

exists, she tells
herself as slow
fingers begin

unbuttoning rain,
unzipping faint
mist, pulling

her back into
the bed whis-
pering come,

come let
me love
you.