Yesterday the wings burst through our backs and
expanded until every sensation was fresh and sore and
every flex broke skin and tore muscle.
We plunged headlong off the whitewashed rooftops;
stood shoulder to shoulder with the heroes
who stride through our dreams.
(Scorning mortality, we swore someday we'd fly
to the sun.)

Today there is blood on the streets and the rooftops are haunted.
Fatigue sets in – we have settled down somewhat,
we are resigned.
The scars have melted into fine white lines that
divide our consciousness (and still we bear on.)
I seek a sanctuary beyond the furthest star but instead
it is you I notice, poised on the edge of forever,
desperation and a final Icarus-recklessness in your eyes.

(then you toppled
over and down into entropy and obscurity.)

It was then I knew we'd never fly again.