Icarus Dreams of the Future

as he falls, flailing
his featherless arms,

into his final microsleep,
those tiny ruptures that ruled him

and made him appear
reckless. The muscle

memory pulled him up higher
towards the unforgiving eye

of the sun, burning
off the glue, holding

him together. Daedalus is
nowhere to be seen. And he falls,

securing himself
inside the dream world

where everyone is aloft
with wings, with ships, with strings and oars

gliding through the air.
He is not falling,

he floats by what is possible,
and doesn’t let the ground wake him.