Icarus
the answer is
not the history
of flight but
a question of
wings a notion
born of desperation
and fright each
quill ruffled by
the delicate tongue
of air can
only reflect this
fortune a dream
but never a
tragedy the gift
of gravity’s denial
Written probably in 1985 or 1986, this is the first poem I titled “Icarus.” After lurking in a drawer for decades, it made its first public appearance here on the blog in December 2017.
O at the Edges 
I like how you fit a good deal of complexity into a small space…. turning the feathers into quills and air into delicate tongues — which were unable to keep Icarus aloft.
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Thanks, Dave. I’m pleased with this one – it still holds up. Well, except for Icarus. 😁
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Glad you decided to dust it off and give it new life. I’m a sucker for all things winged.
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I’ve kept a handful of those early poems. They’re fun to look at now and then. And, yes! Winged beings play a significant role in my life!
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