Swift

The common swift,
who flies from Europe
to central Africa
and back in ten months,
nearly without landing,
can feel the pinpricks of stars
in winding sky roads
that fall away behind.

Without radio or jet engine,
without even an inflight
movie except the one
unfolding below on
the brindled earth’s hide,
she stakes no claim.

She does not even seem to mind
when we give her a small antenna
to track her wandering, though it
costs her dearly in insect work.

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