Defiant always of the Principia, Sky Boy jumped. Lean and lithe he practiced plyometrics, nurtured an impressive vertical. Mid-leap he swore an oath: gravity is my enemy. 9.81m/s2 is a prison binding us to the Earth. Behind workroom door Daddy carved a surprise for beloved son: large waxen wings. Calculations had been made, arcs plotted. Numbers and symbols, code (helixed and backboned) were contemplated. Sky Boy studied particle physics – all points are the same point on a string. Nothing personal, Newton. Not this time, Dad. Sky Boy flew while waxen wings melted in the sun.