It's Still Life

Whoever Said You Can’t Fly

It’s late afternoon
and the air feels electric.
Metaphysical weather.
Smells like thin snow,
and for some reason,

I’m thinking Icarus, and
our Christmas escape
to Bogotá, and boxes
of Cracker Jacks
and a toy surprise.

Poetic Asides Day 4: Who(so)ever (_____)