not merely off a bit, but totally wrong,
nothing like things as they really are?
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If youà ‚¬ „ ve done this, you know how durably fragile
those phantoms we hold in our heads are,
those wisps of thought that people die and kill for,
betray lovers for, give up lifelong friendships for.
Â
If youà ‚¬ „ ve not done this, you probably donà ‚¬ „ t understand this poem,
or think ità ‚¬ „ s not even a poem, but a bit of opaque nonsense,
occupying too much of your dayà ‚¬ „ s time,
so you probably should stop reading it here, now.
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