“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.