ON THE WORLD this world is one flying away approaching never becoming the gray clouds that send it rain water soaks it more keeps rushing through the air till it runs off down and away unlike the poorly-thought-out heavens this world is pelted with discomforts we don't have to imagine that it is weighed down with griefs it is but it keeps flying and we stand on it and hold our hats with both hands not to lose them and walk more spraddled with each passing year grief heavy enough in our hearts to keep our feet on the ground and bring us into it