Love, having feathered my wings, the mere thought
of you provides engine and thrust — Whoosh!
There I am steadily gaining altitude,
Micro-lighting towards heaven's gate.

Small wonder if, peering down, I feel nervous —
And then that thought radios me: 'An air-
crash is what you fear? Well, here goes. Prepare,
though all's not lost. Far from it. Icarus,

whom desire propelled likewise, has now got
however many miles of sea named
after him for flying where the sun's too hot.'

Of me people too can say, 'This fellow aimed
at the stars. His mission has failed...So what?
His life may be cut short, but he had heart…'