In the season's growing dark,

The entry to our building's park


Is accessed through a sliding door,

Where on the now ascending floor


A formerly celestial leaf

Has lost its perch and come to grief,


Sprung perhaps from the trees that preen

Just above carpet green,


Its painted forest proud and tall,

Glued in sections on the wall;


On the roof, the solar flare

Of the skylight's fading glare


Created no doubt by the light

From our platform's rising height.


It doesn't seem especially strange

That the vista doesn't change:


Experience the highest view

Just by pushing 22 -


About the same as what is done

By pressing randomly on 1, 


A panorama also seen

At all the stages in between -


Our expanding universe in toto

Summed up in a single photo,


Its sterile world brought not much nearer

By the elevator's cringing mirror,


But a miracle, that, even here,

Nature scrambles to appear.