DAEDALUS MOURNS FOR HIS SON
His precarious project oh my son
Wept Daedalus in the aftermath
And the sea boiled up
And the heartache was too much
It overflowed the maths of myth
And no cartology ever could contain it
For what map is there of grief
When it’s too late
Such tears are gold
Now the eclipse lengthens
He joys no more
In the rush of wings
Not even in birdsong.
mary angela douglas 8 march 2024
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