We heave up our shoulders to carry the stones of this world, the weight of grief, the bonds of labor, the hard-forged metals of indifference and fear, the gravity of orbiting stars, repelling, spinning, then pulling close
When you wait for the moon, it will fool you, appearing like a phantom, disappearing when you desire it the most, covered by clouds almost as heavy as the weight of the world
Grief, rain, molten metals, tender moon, spinning stars, they appear, already assembled, ready to hold together the vision of the cold earth flattened before us, ragged travelers line the roadside
and cheer, as if this parade was just for them