Only fear,
only and always fear,
but triumph, also,
and pity,
always pity for himself, who dared,
and pity for others, who do not dare,
who fall for decades
at constant altitudes,
who do not crash,
but dissipate gradually into surrounding air.

Icarus felt anger towards those who do not dare,
the inverse of survivor’s guilt.
“My talents are wasted in Hell – all milling for eternity
and low ceilings,”
whereas:
“they are wasted on Earth
dripping wax on the bare backs of their lovers
and building nothing.”

But any feeling not fear was fear in disguise.
He felt only and always fear
at the most reliable and universal prophecy
fulfilled, finally,
of dying
broken and alone.