I stare out the window of my car. 
There’s glass there, 
But it’s so clear, 
That there’s nothing for the light to catch between me, 
And the things I stare out at, 
Which all blurr together into one thing as I drive past them,
And become one reflection in the window pane. 
When I stop, 
I like to look out at the still world, 
Look at how far I’ve come, 
Look at a world that isn’t blurred by motion, 
Or obscured by dirty glass. 
That’s why I clean the windows every day. 
There’s a gas station I stop at, 
Where I find suds and water. 
When I wipe them across the window, 
The glass turns into a water fall. 
It’s beautiful, 
But I prefer when I’ve just finished cleaning, 
And the windows are clear.