Icarus

Freefalling through a cloud of doves,

wailing for wings to sprout—

scapula breaking in barbed skeins

of wind. He sees a circle of baobabs,

flames of the forest, vales of stupor lit

by fading lanterns—memories spill

from kaleidoscopes, lucent dawns

in every swivel, silken silhouettes

of seabirds, portia trees, vermillion petals

gale-scattered within the splintering psyche

of this ammolite angel

cleaving the tranquil sea.