In this way,
   we are walls,
built of brick and clay.
   Strong, to hold the difference
as a floor
    differs from a roof.
And yet some of us are floors,
   happy to support,
to be the firm tiles or boards
   that the rest of us may
        walk on.
Even less of us are roofs,
    nor should we really need them --
those tight capped
     locked down
           gates against the stars,
     a lid to block out sunlight,
few plants can live indoors.

It is in this way we are walls,
   keeping separate floor and roof,
Holding carefully the beams
    so that none may tilt
          or splinter --
For without walls there is no shelter,
    no place from weather,
          lock nor key;
with no walls, we are all flat
     ongoing lines,
        indefinitely.