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?