Gelernter's room. Like mine,

The cubicle is full

Of projects: dusty papers line

The wall, a symbol


Of the vanished mole

Who with upholstered hints

Fills his parental role,

Like Christmas presents


Underneath the tree

That sketch a woodland scene,

One-dimensional, but key,

Present if unseen,


Their world of Currier & Ives,

Snowbound homes and faces,

Old-fashioned, simple lives

In front of fireplaces,


Just as here at Yale

A tiny niche of window,

Frosted by the braille

Of early season snow,


Dominates the room

As surely as the man

Who, hidden in the gloom,

Lends the place his plan.