A Thousand Places to Die

"Consider Icarus, pasting those sticky wings on,
testing that strange little tug at his shoulder blade...
Who cares that he fell back to the sea?"
(Anne Sexton)

The evening wore
a blue jacket. Your voice
dressed itself
for a long journey.

There are a thousand
places to die. You chose
the sea because
it remembered you.

A dead bird, fallen
from eternal flight;
a small capsized body-
the secret of its search.

Wings moved
air, carried grief
through bones
of your yearning...

traced lines
of the missing
piece as if
you had known it.

You kept yourself
indifferent; the mystery
of interrupted light ...
blind falcon

at the end
of your fragile bindings-

set sail.