Tiny Airplanes

There are tiny airplanes in my sky.

Flittering Icaruses who fly
and crash
and fly
and crash
and fly again, undeterred.
They come from nowhere, quiet and solitary by day,
then find their GPS coordinates pointed unwaveringly at a bright orb
that ignites only after sunfall.
Greedy creatures.
They try to swallow something bigger than they can understand.
Their flight pollutes my peace.

Alas, the ceiling is too tall for Daedalus to intervene.