DEAR MISTRESS

Ancient Egyptian adventurers (with
Wings attached) scale huge pyramids. But here
I must work. I sift through numbers. They near
The top of the marble smooth monolith --
A perfect sharp point -- then touch the feathers, kiss
Their wings of Icarus for luck and pray
To fly. I shake my head to clear this
Dream. Talk telephone. Type. But they plunge! They
Slide! Faster and faster down the slick slate
Pyramid cliff grit teeth in loud grins wait
for the almighty wind to toss them through
Desert air. Become heroes, one by one,
Glide over the Nile, sing under the sun.
Dear Mistress, I wouldn't want to land, would you?