• Dreams

    Dan Chiasson

    Spring 2019

     The mountains around him opened in great flashing crevasses and
    out poured men and women by the hundreds, smiling and laughing;
    he was a monitoring eagle seeing life from all angles
    Then he was the one seen, like a monitoring eagle glimpsed in the
    trees, a rare and beautiful symbol.
    Then again he was the eagle's eye, hidden in the deep branches of
    a pine, far above, an eye that understood everything.
     the rockface launched from its chasms
               bright orange skiers
     auroras flashed then drifted
               the skiers were crepe paper
     the mountain had a mouth
               and it ate passing airplanes
     the conscience of the Adirondacks
               is the sandwort is the tundra yew
     a volley of clouds whipped past
               the trees and over the valley
     where Mount Mansfield was ready
               with its down the line return

    Dan Chiasson is the author of five books, including, most recently, the poetry collection Bicentennial. He teaches at Wellesley College and reviews poetry for the New Yorker.

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