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