Icarus - Bennett Roberts

Often enough,

birds fly about.

Winds out.

They take me back to salty docks.

Faces blushing with sun,

smiling with happiness left.

Our quiet stares into blue lakes,

encouraging the plunge.

Will the waiting water change me?

To have wings?

Eyes down,

a bird at with orange eye.

Sloping to the ground with pained movement,

slow.

Uncomfortable exchanges with bird of flight.

I don't know where he will fly

or what tastes touch his beak.

Looking eyes,

I would take it to sky next.

Remembering cool breath over cloud faces.

Welcome, sun,

to parched wing tips.

Perched desire in winds.

Same winds carrying.

Same winds washing.

Welcome

to a revolution of bone and falling feather.

And then,

settling sound;

sweet cheeps mostly.

Wings brushing air,

painting unbroken sky-space.