Swifts Poem by Dan Chiasson
Swifts
Reality isn't one point in space.
It isn't one moment in time—
look at time, a spool of twine
one minute, idle in a sewing kit,
the next minute a shooting star.
Reality is an average of moods,
strike that, a flock of birds,
strike that, a single bird
tracked through dense forest:
you can lose it for hours or days,
but it isn't lost. You tired of the metaphor.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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8/25/2026 1:54:23 PM # rel_20260813T193622Z_3aad590
