Dave Bonta's short poem is a quiet moment of looking. The speaker watches crane flies, those delicate insects with bodies like threads and legs that seem far too long for them, drifting among the trees. The first lines are almost a list of things the eye picks out one by one: the slimness, the legs, the see-through wings.
Then the poem turns on a surprising comparison. The crane flies are "stranger than any daydream," which suggests that real life has outdone the imagination. The speaker doesn't seem bothered by the insects or interested in studying them. Instead there's wonder, a sense of being pleasantly caught off guard by something ordinary that looks unreal when you really notice it.
The mood is calm, light and a little dreamy. The final line, with its soft verb "float," slows everything down, so the reader seems to hover along with the crane flies and the trees around them.