As soon as you enter, nothing is the same— A fact, perhaps, you knew before you came Inside. The shape alone, from down the street, Signals some fundamental and complete Transformation from what has come before, In motion by the time you touch the door.
The door—here, too, something seems amiss If known conventions be applied to this. Unlike the tidy portals near and next, Of chrome and glass, exquisitely Windexed, The knotted oak leaves outside witness blind, But those who enter know what they will find.
