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  • As I know his fate,
    of being an archetype
    and subject of much speculation
    that is what melted his wings,
    not the sun.

    As I know his fate,
    like Brueghel or Williams
    who took it in stride,
    I forgive him
    his power to remind us
    of death.

    Wax and feathers to make wings
    are unsatisfactory, though logical.
    Metal and fuel
    are illogical, yet fly.

    In flying he wished
    to subsume his death.
    As I know his fate,
    unworried for mine, I will fly.
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