Icarus

Very high in an egg-blue sky
A jet flashed in the post-noon sun
   As though an atom split;
Or in that instant did it fly
Between dimensions and thus shun
   This world for that of spirit?

In the bare April trees a pair

Of blue tits seeking insects bounced
   Between branches ceaselessly;
So, particles with a fecund flare
Artlessly nourish Being’s founts,
   Dancing creatively.

Too grand: rather, Icarus’ hand,

Touching the sun, exploded in
   Presumption; wreckage fell,
Past the blind-to-death tits, to land
In shattered skeins, dissolving in
   Matter’s ebb and swell.

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© June 2013