Somehow even familiarity
has become distorted
beneath the the raw cinder blocks
doused white enough
that I could see
the eyes of the past
the eyes of the future
looking back at me,
the eyes of the present

that must journey
behind the white walls
into the familiar unknown

For there is something there

Beyond the white walls
there are grand structures
of such stone, of such wood
of such rainbow rays
casting themselves into
    such hollow ground
in attempt to make familiarity
solid like stone
like the golden man, nestled on
the lowercase t