The Fall Of Icarus Poem by Martin A. Ramos

Icarus fell.
The farmer in the field saw
the pregnant sails of the ship
pointing toward a foreign port.

Closer to shore, the foot-
tips of the boy, his wings
unseen beneath the sea of glass.
The splash remained unrecorded.

Only the earth parted in ripples,
broken by the plow's persistent push
as the young man considered
the whims and woes of the harvest.

'Please, let it rain, Lord.
No more stumps in the way.
I am weary, Lord. No blight of locusts
or early morning frost this autumn.'

He found comfort in the calluses
that adorned like pearls his palms,
and in his muscles, tired and throbbing,
but none in any vagary of flight:

A boy who tumbled
like a brick out of the blue.
A foolish boy, now in the water,
dead or drowning.