PortionsThe world that waits for me at the top of the stairsis one of supreme quiet, and invitation_To a pensive time of varying mood, Strange and fanciful thought, And ideas that burst like bright, Exciting colors, over the furniture and appointments, These alongside shadows, deep and grey_This is the world of my most real self, One of which I yearn, in paradoxical stances:To escape, and to return-For knowing one's self must be done in portions, Else the whole of it would crumble, In the terrible and marvelous scrutiny, As a castle, Fashioned, Of humble sand.To be intimate with one's self is a brave and worthy task, Superseding that with any other.