We are ripped from the ground, raindrops skittering like
rhinestones from our wingtips into the ever-expanding air.

And I am leaving you with nothing that cannot be squeezed
into the collapsible frame of the mind, that does not need

to be checked into the hold. Below, a scrawl of arteries
growls with cars and drivers underlining another week,

their tiny red and white lights holding hands way beyond
the reasonable human field of view, the pounding

of their thousand heartbeats shunting blood around
every obstacle. Sometimes it exhausts me just to

watch us all, to wonder how we are carrying on, how
the Earth is not gaining weight despite our restlessness,

is still nothing more nor less than the day it was born,
wrinkled and red-faced, screaming for its life in the

arms of a god who can still pick it out instantly,
however crowded the heavens may have become.­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­

– Robert Ford