The place is where you find it,
where you put it,
or it drops to land
falling for someone,

would you,
and the tired world unfill itself of things
& unwind,
hold all that. . .
to what end?

what purpose?

what place would you give it?

Take everything, all you are,
and lock it up tight in some hope chest
bury it deep behind some wall,
for it too will one day fall,

and to what end?

How heavy the slow world is,
a leaf of some bright fall color is going to. . .

It all drops out of me so easily,
The heavy road, the dropped car,
the canopy of stars
so much useless imaginations,
the machinery of loving design winds

It all falls so effortlessly,
I can feel my eye breaking,
crushed by the weight.