Ikaros

And that young man fitted with bone and thong
and membrane from his withers by his father
the maze molder, when he climbed into flame
itself in the high nucleus, dripped as slather
down the sky’s maw. Union there, with an aim
at the center, crisped on a central soundless gong,

sizzling from his overreach extended
back on itself and down, the soundless hurry
of the sea far below minutely riven,
trembling in place, diamonds in blue slurry
nowhere disturbed yet flecking everywhere, driven—
all this boy’s cry endlessly thin, suspended.

John Peck, "From the Headland at Cumae"