Up and Down

It is too easy to be caught,
brought short by changing vistas:
first the sky wings beating closer,
closer to the sun, then the melting.
The wax runs fast at first--thin as clear ink
on loosed feathers descending slower than you,
scrawling in the space you are leaving--have left:  
Falling! Falling! And you realize, suddenly,
it wasn't the earth that was tiny.
It was you.