Like Daedalus

As he worked, it seemed
that he might begin to
fly, rising on his shoulder
blades, the nacent wings
Of a creature with a heavy and
fertile heart,
unlike a bird which
has a heart of
air, the sky falling
through its hollow bones,
the earth, a point
of reference, turning
on the curve
of its eye.
But still, as he worked it
seemed he might begin to fly.

T. Baker