She built a glass house,
Pane by pane,
Glazing each one, then wiping it clean.
Sometimes, when the lawn service came, the decapitated grass blades would pile around the base of the glass
And she would painstakingly, on hands and knees, pull each slice of green away from the foundation.
Eventually she built a garden around the edge.
She used to tell all her neighbors that she loved the roof the best,
How the light would come in during the day,
How the stars and moon would shine their brightness through a sea of black,
How she could hear the rain with new ears.
When the birds would fly overhead (especially during geese migration), she needed
Help to clean the top of the house, so she would enlist the
Assistance of neighbors, friends, and even sometimes professional window-washers to
Clean the panes.
I asked her once how she could live with so much