A string saved for Icarus
The start of light
the continual emancipation from question
mars the granules of completion.
You—the other minute of the nine
into the deep of sleep
a like wondering of certitude as you
place one pebble near the feet of the one anointed
by your fixed gaze of gazes.
Holy as it is, you venture and make place
of granite rock
a change of communication against
the will before the butterflies return