Looking for Amelia Earhart or Don't Call Me Icarus

Amelia Earhart was an astronaut of sorts. A woman with two organs for a last name. Twice more than most. And listening above all else.

Icarus was told "to take the middle way." Moisture weighs down the wings; the sun burns them useless.

ITASCA called Icarus to call it off, only a few letters gone.

A lonely line of transmissions blocked the candles on the evening skyway.

The child had put his thumbprint into the wax. The woman her palm into an ink blot. Two landlocked maps. Two charts of earth.

Read the stars--that is what Daedalus should have done. To avoid the sun, how about a night flight with his son?

Ah, even weather can flicker off those secondary lights. Noonan following Electra followed by Orion. The celestial lion swallows the scorched torch. Electra is lightless.

Hushed with myth. Flying North and South. Electra pushes forth Orestes.

He is met with a radio silence longer than a tomb. He looks up. The ocean's grim mouth is filled with rocky coral and a boy's heart.

Dearest Canary, rescue me. I am no longer feathered.

How you met me.