After Icarus flew through the timeless zone, and into our time,
he did not merely fall from the sky; rather, he executed a
controlled landing---perhaps a little clunsy, but this must be
explained by his consider inexperience with the vagaries of the
twentieth and twenty-first centuries which (from this perspective
look far too much alike in terms of flaws and debacles).
Icarus offered his wings to the sun;
his tale to the ancient poets of his time;
but his beauty---long-haired and adolescent
(most usually naked, and most often engorged and tumescent)---
he has given to our swimming pool, which received him at the
conclusion of his descent; he who defied gravity, calendars and clocks
now swims in my backyard, clad only in a pair of thigh high socks.
Starward