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POETRY
Icarus at Night
A poem
He sees stars
Many of them died long before he was born
In the dark he takes pleasure in meeting hardship
An odd thing, like being grounded and expecting to fly
Nocturnal animals bumble and rustle on the hard ground
The feathers of his wings are as white as angels
Like an angel, he could kill infants or exult in the Sun
One day when the Sun arrives he will fly straight into its arms
He thinks of this when he should be asleep
In a nightmare he is thrown down, impudent and naïve
Yet in the darkness of evening he does not
Even consider that he might fail
He notices that his wings don’t throw shadows
His possible collapse rises with the bright new day
But after sunset nothing will melt his waxen creation
On all things hidden the night draws wings
The shadows have cooled his narrow determination
The Sun might have been within easy reach but
If he could fly at night
So much more wonderful are the impossible stars
