Forget the fall! Just tell me how you flew
before the air around you pivoted
right-angle with the sea, and plummeted
by skywards, when you traded blue for blue.

Forget the melting-candle smell before,
and don't tell me you were afraid -- you bore
me when you do. Keep on this way, I'll go --
unless you'll tell me how it was to know

the sky as intimately as the earth
knows rain. You're flotsam now, and wash ashore
in floating feathers, nibbled bones -- it's worth
it for the myth and gorgeous metaphor.

Indifferent poets picked your ribs like eels --
you never said how flight or falling feels.