Poetry Day - Stationed in this world

I have another poem by Albert Goldbarth today, which I was going to post already, but which has gained aptness in the last week (from here). I pray that people do weep over the devastation in Queensland, and through that come to know their salvation. And then I read some entertaining things around the world wide web in relation to the myth referred to at the end of this poem.

Stationed

BY ALBERT GOLDBARTH

It's the other ones, who soon enough return

to being happy after the funeral, that are nearest

to their own deaths—in their gaiety

and everyday distraction, they're so open

and unguarded . . . anything could enter them;

could claim them. It's the ones who weep

incessantly that are saved for now, the ones

who have taken a little of it

into their systems: this is how

inoculation works. And sorrow is difficult,

a job: it requires time to complete.

And the tears?—the salt

of the folk saying,

that gets sprinkled over the tail feathers

and keeps a bird from flying;

keeps it stationed in this world.

Picture from here.