By Peter Halstead

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.

Tippet Alley
February 19th, 1997

Rue de Varenne
September 21, 2004

Redone April 28th, 2016