What He Imagined

Each morning
Icarus flies up,

every afternoon
he touches the sun.

By evening,
his body afloat

in the sea and
the sea cradles him.

His face,
white and green,

his golden shoes

His arms still
stretched as if

he'll try again.


RachelW said...

So sad and gentle-- I love how you used the image of the golden shoes, unlaced. I enjoy so many of your poems.

Rachel Phillips said...

Thank you Rachel for your supportive comments.