A Boy Falling Out Of The Sky
I can not write this piece: glass is all
I see: a piece just shattered that falls
sparkles, twists bright light diamond like: blood
is all I hear as my heart beats quick
out loud and my son is at my feet:
he shall not have this sight of figures
falling, I will not let that happen:
my fingers move across his soft hair
and lift eyes to mine: impossible
to imagine him not here today.
After breakfast when his father calls
time for daily lessons, Icarus
works equations until the king’s men
enter their home: forces eyes to move
away from the sight of all ever
known: he follows behind his father
into the heart of the labyrinth:
a feather riding on a twisted
current caught beneath it floats down safe
while still a sound, lingering longer
within the waves, that I can not name.
It is unnatural. It is man made.
I lose my sense within the image
hands can not cover eyes and ears except
as I pretend my arms protect him:
that morning when no one could believe
the picture true there were those in there:
who’s hands had softly brushed aside hair
and placed warm lips upon small forehead:
who’s voice had moved quick to catch lost time
cried an over the shoulder good bye:
who had sang with the radio who
had quarreled with a lover or who
had made love or who had forgotten
to brush teeth or who had felt the sun:
none that could imagine time would end.
Can horror be contained? I try: wrap
words around images like mother
of pearl trying to encase moments
and give them meaning: I can not write
this piece can not contain this mourning:
still, the alarm goes off to announce
another day beginning again
for us.