Perfect Little Squares

Every building in my view Has perfect little squares Of windows lined up neatly Which I gaze at, unawares. From where I sit, I cannot see The curtains, shades or blinds, The distance meaning if I stare, Then no one really minds. And yet, behind each pane of glass Some lives are being spent, Each one unique, no matter what The co-op fees or rent. The city houses millions, All with windows facing out, But we never know what life Behind those windows is about.