I should have fashioned a giant paper airplane
or hitched a ride on the back of a kite
or swung a rope over a pelican,
if I could just crouch small enough
to wrap my arms around his neck
instead of choosing Icarus with all of his
doomed plans, wax and dreaming.
Icarus looks over his shoulder at me, frantically
reapplying wax as sweat runs down his face,
and grins, sure that all errors are forgivable.
Jealous pelicans and seagulls will not peck us
into the ocean where great fish, extinct for centuries now,
simply laugh at us for raising ourselves above them,
for not recognizing how sensible the ocean is
and sure footed land is with its trails and trees
hanging with fruit that the winged ones,
foolish in their endless circling and diving
often miss in their aim or far too greedy grasping.