Gelernter’s room. Like mine,

The cubicle is full

Ofprojects: dusty papers line

The wall, a symbol


Of the vanished mole

Who with upholstered hints

Fills his proprietary role, 

Like Christmas presents


Underneath a decorated tree,

A Norman Rockwell scene,

One-dimensional, but still key,

Its maning present, if unseen:


The land 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.