He takes wing and flutters
in his urge to rise up and gaze
aloft, and that is what brings
the charge that he is mad—
Plato, Phaedrus 249d-e
In the flight and moment
so minuscule and brief
even an instant thought
couldn’t be thought twice
(that’d let it feign and fib),
eyes get sometimes caught
and tied in a sudden knot,
strong to halt and tether
even knees and tongues
along with the hearts—
turned to paired wings
with which our mad souls fly
where the coupled glaze has fanned
and found—nuggets of once lost gold.
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