There are poets of glass: Hilda Doolittle with her sands of Egypt, Li Po drawing fortunes on water, even Kropotkin who saw history through a cup of red tea.
Today I saw a raven study itself in a department store window. “Death,” said Tennessee Williams, “is one moment, and life is so many of them.”
The raven turned his head from side to side, like a precision tool. He was expressing his gratitude in a city of glass–the bird’s sidelong glance like nothing you will see from the birds who live beside stones.
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Planet of the Blind 