Daedalus’ Labyrinth

In a softer hour of the night
when the moon hangs low and big,
darkness gathers in the periphery of my room
enhancing light from heavenly bodies glinting
in the light of another sun.

Outside, the large moon pours black liquid from its white gold cup
onto the river’s lustrous braid.
Graphite birds fly through pages on my bookshelf,
taking on muscle and memory through motion.
I imagine human wings to take us out and up
beyond that safer sun.

Outside the circular window, night opens before me,
exposing its celestial machinery.

I understood how to turn man into a machine
but not how to turn him back again,
therefore, every night I wandered the labyrinth of my brain
always fearing I'll run out of string before I could get back again.