If no one on the ground or ocean
was injured when he turned to a noun
what was the loss? His wings were waxen.
He should have known the risk but wanted
always to be a verb: pure motion,
wind on his chest as none could have known,
distance and gravity forsaken.
Simply to be a verb he mounted
higher above the sea, the warming
sun on his back a false homecoming.
Truth was a disappointment. Even
imagination failed to keep him.
Time is short, so I’ll be direct: FIRST THINGS needs you. And we need you by December 31 at 11:59 p.m., when the clock will strike zero. Give now at supportfirstthings.com.
First Things does not hesitate to call out what is bad. Today, there is much to call out. Yet our editors, authors, and readers like you share a greater purpose. And we are guided by a deeper, more enduring hope.
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