I picture him in the middle of that glass house,
feet planted firmly on a stone pedestal

holding up the earth

stretching, stretching as tall as he can

he has no other choice

he hasn’t considered
being
any other way

he hasn’t considered
just
being

He will stretch, heft
his earth up through that crisp, white ceiling
into the sky

more, more
still more

until he has stretched himself so far, so thin,
that he disappears from sight

until there is just a pedestal left standing empty
in the middle of a glass house

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