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.
But I prefer when I’ve just finished cleaning,
And the windows are clear.