No boy with waxen wings

plummeting to the sea.

No laughing cackling child

“Look at me!”

Not I.

No more a maid

wandering well-worn paths,

bound by others’ steps,

looking backwards,

always past.

Always passed.

Reflected in

ballroom masques

eyes bright behind the

lash.

Not I.

Wings on fire,

wings of light,

flames through the darkness

noon shadows at night.

Soar to the heavens,

sparks ignite.

Two of us burning;

my wings, you … star.

I,

with wings of fire

fade to ash.