icarus learned to fall by
watching boys jump from
their ten story apartments, dissected
the way the feet slipped, the eyes shut,
the mouth quirked down into a question.
descent is the most thrilling part-
but really, he has seen it so many times
he wonders now if singeing his bones
on the edges of the sun would be as
painful as spilling onto the ground.
he tries it one day, unfurls his wings
to eclipse the big dipper and leans
forwards against the negative space
of what is not there, plummets for
a second then beats his way upwards
against the grain of time and apples
on the ground, tastes the way
dead stars spark like dying embers,
looks up until he is blinded by the
godlike visage of the sun, then
feels his back scaldering, wings
smoking, wax feathers dripping down
his neck like blood and
laughs.
