The salesman unlocks the door and motions me into the dark cave of entry. I am guided by ancestral hosts; shall I become familiar here? There are panes of light at the end of the hall; I go toward them as any explorer might. My eye finds and tries all the elements for style, sifting old clues from connected episodes. Long lines of parents decide for me. With attitudes I cannot escape I choose
the winding stairs,
a window's shape,
the attic view. I salute the habits of this house. My careful salesman does not know that like the hermit crab I have found a fitting shell for growing.