Are so talked about
because we cannot see them. Only
their shadows, the place where they have been
is recognised, so that one says
‘Look, a swift!’, wrongly placing
intense generations of birds
culled from the wrecks of dinosaurs
in any one place at one time.
Swifts aren’t there, where you watch
but are gone, like the jack from a jack-in-a-box,
loading up with insects and air.
Already gone—autumn leaves
over desert sands
gone.