Final Flight

I slept through
the initial collisions,
those twin explosions
as steel and fuel met
concrete and girder
for the final collapse
into rock and powder
of two towers
meant as monuments
to the grandeur
of their century.
I saw it
from a safe distance--
not living through events
except for my own recall
or replays of video.
I can still note those,
retrieve the day, but
the singular image
I cannot shed, the one
that refuses
to leave my head
is that of people,
the 200 left who,
facing the option
of burning alive,
knowing at that moment
they were indeed
dead, chose instead,
like Icarus,
to spread their arms
in almost-welcome embrace
of the quarter-mile
journey to back to earth.