the blue crane

made of plastics and steel
the crane stretches above the skyscrapers
in the afternoon sun
the heat bearing down
like a blanket on fire.
the crane takes on
congenial features:
the end of its long brilliant blue beam
is funny and white
like the body and face
of an enormous dragonfly.
they shimmer in the heat.
what's your name, i ask.
Night Skye
is his reply -
he likes cocoanuts
and fresh rain
and me.
his gaze follows me as I walk away
the horizontal arm silently rotating
the sun finally sinking
less heat in the shade.
a grackle perches on his head
as i fade away