Planes crash with depressing infrequency.
Repetition of falling feathers, dun
Dutch feet, makes us forget there was only
One Icarus. He lived fast and died young.
I wonder if he inspired a spree
Of Greek jumpers, the way Werther blew out
The brains of European kids, if he,
Pre-sex, androgynous, was the last shout
On Sappho’s tongue as she broke up into
A thousand shards that we’d puzzle over,
Mazes where the tiptoeing Minotaur
Never strikes, just waits, out of sight, hovers,
Drags it out, you stumbling around with torch
Fizzling like the sun foundering in the sea.