Icarus taught me the fear of falling
from a state of grace. Tomorrow these words
will move too fast against hours, crossing
time zones; no skyline just sky, just the bird’s
fear as it passes through my turbulence.
Anyone can send you burning across heaven.
Words, gestures, blank indifference;
they can bring you crashing down like the loss
of one more airlined over the sea –
Here, take my last lucre, my last romance;
just give me a friend who’ll show me some dismay
at my leaving. That’s grace. Remember me.
Don’t be one more stranger who had a chance
to know me but turned his face away.