I read about him that was given wings.
His father fixed those wings to carry him away.
They carried him halfway home, and then he fell.
And he fell not because he flew
but because he loved it so.
You see it’s neither pride, nor gravity but love
that pulls us back down to the world.
Love furnishes the wings, and that same love
will watch over us as we drown.
The soul makes a thousand crossings, the heart, just one.
John Glenday, “Landscape with Flying Man,” Grain: Poems (Pan Macmillan, 2009)