Portrait of Icarus as a Country on Fire

Can we talk about the wax? The way the wax
would have felt on his skin, slick 
at the first signs of melting, a spreading
warmth that felt so good he flew closer 
to the sun, the sensation a full body coating
of intoxicating heat, before the wax
began to burn, to cover him like napalm,
to coat his body in something like jet fuel
and feathers, consuming him as surely
as the coat Medea prepared for Jason’s bride.
I think my mother named me Jason
because she wanted me …