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 proprietary role,
Like Christmas presents

Underneath a decorated tree,
A Norman Rockwell scene,
One-dimensional, but still key,
Its meaning 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.