The poet and the poem -- I am both. Dual-formed
I shall be lifted heavenward
on wings.
I will not remain
on Earth to suffer Envy’s arrows.
The crowded cities shall all be left behind. At last.
I (of lowly parents born, a nobody)
I shall (I who stand before you now, hearing your voice)
I shall not (my dear friend, believe it)
I shall not die. (Oblivion, “where is thy sting?”)
The metamorphosis has already begun. I feel it.
My skin has hardened and broken
Reveling feathers
Soft and purest white
Growing up my arms and shoulders
Ready to take me farther than I myself can go
Higher than Daedalus’ son once flew, never falling
Reaching distant shores and
Peoples unknown.
Unknown peoples
Who do not even speak as we
Shall know my name. Shall call me friend.
Have therefore no sad songs at my funeral
Don’t speak, don’t mourn, don’t weep.
Your grief is unwarranted.
My tomb unnecessary.
Superfluous all.
