david jewell poet

words. photos. images. whatnot.

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Icarus falling


What could he carve out of words

that would make any sense of it now.


When Icarus fell, and walked, broken,

back to the village–what

could he say.


The villagers were afraid of him,

couldn’t believe him,

turned away.


How could he describe flying

up towards the sun,

his wings melting,

he’d forgotten all warnings,

he couldn’t stop,

until he was



How could he explain how it feels here,

what pictures does he have,


except the white hot flower in the sky

inviting him.


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