The world has gotten lower and you can stoop to reach it. With your handful of fingers you held up the trees. You held up the lawns in our neighborhood. You carried the streets down to the park where they ended. Now that you are gone.

Nothing holds this place. It is so low anyone can reach it. It is common.

I do not care to stay here. In this place I want to be away. The neighbors will say 'He has went away. I water the peppers each week, and collect his mail. I saw his sister peering in the window. But he is gone.'