The Mechanics of Flying (figs. 1-3)

 

It is said that burning sage

keeps restless spirits at peace.

Once a year for three days

Daedalus sits

under a mobile

crafted from the bones of a

sea bird

and watches the smoke

cling like feathers.

                        ___

 

Two girls

were building a bridge

across a creek,

under a rock and covered in moss

like feathers

was the skeleton of a sea bird—

it couldn’t fly.

                        ___

 

 On the third night,

Daedalus had a dream

that a great dragonfly was upon his chest,

“To fly, you must also be the wind.

You know how to be the wind, don’t you?                       You just put your lips together and blow.”

When Daedalus woke from his dream he was very still.

On his chest was the perfect ash of a sage wand,

he took a breath

when he exhaled

he became the wind.

 

 

The Story Doesn’t End Until We See Icarus Again

 

Think of the sun as an eggshell,

and think that Icarus’ descent—due to a trick of

light, and Daedalus’ failing eyes—

was actually ascension.

In one acrobatic swoop,

Icarus skipped like a rounded

stone into the sun, gave it a

good crack, and crawled inside.

Think of the embryo of a sea bird,

its molecular structure more

fluid and element than

sea-farer

or flight,

Think of the currents it created inside the shell

as its limbs, eyes and throat form

in mid-hatch

hesitation.

Think of its viscous wings

as it stills

and breathes,

of Icarus now,

being made of nothing but

salt

and feathers.

The Mechanics of Flying (fig. 4)

___

For your stemware,

you could use Daedalus’ failing

eyes as coasters

when your not-quite steady

hand

pours slightly more

merlot

than you wanted.

 

The Second Coming of the Sun

 

Icarus hatched from the surface of the sun and seawater,

had to teach himself  how to breathe again—

(he hadn’t used his lungs since the

fated moment when the pads of

his feet left the tower; he will also

argue that lack of oxygen and not

hubris is why he was unable to

stay in the sky.)

It wasn’t until the hatchling’s egg was gone

and the basin of night filled

that he remembered equal parts

exhale

and inhale

when he slept

it was the movement of water under his nose

that reminded him of the tether

of his father’s beard.

Incubating Nymph Becomes Icarus Anisoptera

Famine at sea had made his eyes bulge

like ripe apricots,

his only consolation,

a fishing net that had freed itself,

bringing him fish scales, sea moss, the odd hook

or coin worn to a shine:

Icarus of salt and feather

had become Icarus of

crawling sea bed, Icarus of

his own weaving, Icarus of clove-hitch or

eye splice,

Icarus who spread his arms wide, whose

serendipitous net hardened as he brought it

out of the water across his back,

a dragonfly,

who in a surge of rapid-beating iridescence

became flight again.

 

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