Me leaves are falling.
They swirl and catch the sunlight creating sparkling winks of tears.
Dew, fragmented and fragile and poignant in the waiting;
They wait for the sun to take them up.
Dew rises
Leaves fall
And in between there are floating billows of dust and debris:
Shrapnel studded splinters,
Feathers from Iccarus,
My wings of daubed wax and collected feathers
From dead sea gulls
Scattered in the swirls of flotsam and jetsam
Like so much rubble from a demolished building.
I will settle.
The cloud will settle, and I will pick through the remains
To see if there is anything worth saving there.
But I will not scavenge the bits and pieces of my wings.
I will never build wings again.
I will never fall victim to my foolish soaring wanderings again.
I will stay planted in this earth; I will be buried in this box of earth;
The earth of my choices.
It is safe. It is dark. It is heavy.
I will never be a being of light.
