NewPoetry

Katie Vautour

 

Finding himself able,
the cranking Icarus
honks south.

Made of lift and movement,
he disregards conditions,

climbing higher
than ever

intersecting the path
of flight AC 667
to Toronto.

He meets the turbine
head-on in slow motion:

the……..tug
……………..of air
that won’t let go,

pounds and pounds
……..of pressure

collapsing
breath

as he whips up
into the engine.

Hot steel snaps
……………….tendons,
scorches feathers,
melts hollow shafts.

Somewhere under all this,
wrenching bones.

Metal and wire wings depart
skyward as

the bird is cast
back to land.

Moulting liquid light, sun-
……………….burnt fragments

………………………….of desire—
……………………the deep

.

………….plunge

.

.

bringing him

down.