“wings over the water/ where I am drowning…” ~ D. Bonta

is the name they give
to all we try to do

if only to outwit
the cunning gods.
I too would spend

my lifetime stringing
feathers, devising with wax
and twine a way to bear

my child out of the depths—
A spool of thread to barter
a trail into and back

out of the labyrinth,
one amber drop
of honey to lure

the tethered ant into
and through the nautilus’
swirling depths.


In response to Via Negativa: Lake effect.

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