Let yourself in by the leaf-yellow door.
Go right up the stairs.

Along the way you may stumble upon
one girl in a dress

of flour-bag white, the turkey-red
of another’s apron.

Give it no more thought
than you would a tree felled across a stream

in the Ozarks or the Adirondacks.
Step over her as you would across

a bever dam.
And try to follow that stream back

to the top of the stairs,
to your new room with its leaf-yellow floor.