A Hall

 The road led straight to the temple.

Notre Dame, though not Gothic at all.

The huge doors were closed.
 I chose one on the side,
Not to the main building-to its left wing,
The one in green copper, worn into gaps below.

I pushed.
 Then it was revealed:
An astonishing large hall, in warm light.

Great statues of sitting women-goddesses,
In draped robes, marked it with a rhythm.

Color embraced me like the interior of a purple-brown flower
Of unheard-of size.
 I walked, liberated
From worries, pangs of conscience, and fears.

I knew I was there as one day I would be.

I woke up serene, thinking that this dream
Answers my question, often asked:
How is it when one passes the last threshold?

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