the patter of rain on your upturned palms
turned to wind-wrapped hair and damp eyes
in the beat of wings and troubled decisions
we watched a storm grow and die together.

“Through Trees”

What do you see?

through the trees,
beneath a black sky,
nestled in every forest
grove at once –
a burning little insect
of hope, pure beating wings
a thousand times a breath.
It hungers and hopes
like we hunger and hope.

i’m afraid.

“Further on Bruegel’s Icarus”

With waxwork wings a moment fell
through air and space, from blue to blue,
a drop of water then unmarked.

Cross calm blue sea we then sailed on
with goods to sell and men to meet,
and pay to make, and drink to buy,
No time: we have a schedule to keep.

I feel the heat of summer fade
with every laboured step I take.
A field to till, a family fed.
No time: our livelihood to make.

(( http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Landscape_with_the_Fall_of_Icarus ))