the kite
There, raise your eyes and see,
that telling silhouette, captivity’s envy.
Skimming across 475-nanometre plains,
amidst the lambs of Heaven,
Feathers cutting like fins through hot, heavy oblivion,
wing-shadowed imprints on the golden orb,
master of the wafts and updrafts,
my Icarus, don’t melt your wings.
Notes
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