I don’t get involved in my neighbors’ lives

The girl in the stone house looked up
and saw the ceiling moving away
more each day.
“A mistake,” mother said.
But the ceiling flew up.
“Why are you here?” the girl asked the entering sky,
its edges spotted with forever.
“Move out of the light,” the sky knitters said,
“Because of you we lost a stitch in the fabric of loneliness.”
And they pushed the girl into the hole of not.
“Have you seen a ceiling?” the girl asked galloping horses with steaming nostrils.
“Move out of the way, you’re not letting us unravel the distance.”
And they pushed her into the mouth of rain. There the ceiling stood.
“What are you doing here? You made a mistake flying away,” the girl said.
“The horizon is make-believe,” said the ceiling.
“You’re mistaken if you think a ceiling can believe,” said the girl.
It is also a mistake to let a girl see a ceiling fly.
“As one who hates make-believe, I’m not a girl,” she said, and pushed the ceiling down.
At home mother said, “Dress the ceiling in the sweater I made for it.”
“You’d be wrong to think,” the girl said, “that you can clothe the wound of loneliness.”