It was the snow that drew me in under the trefoil neon illuminations on Nevada Avenue, or the shelter from the snow that drove me in. An apostate from repetition. An enigmatic thought that equivocation might only be possible on the basis of a surreptition. A clear thought. No. Vestibulary thoughts. Between the perpetual and the maginational I knew I was leaving something out, or turning things around all widdershins for some crazy reason. Was I seeking poetic closure? In any event my way was made inside.
The alfaqui told me that there are no chairs in the hypercathedral, the Cathedral of a Thousand and One Refuges, only doorways and aisles. For that reason it is also called the Cathedral of a Thousand and One Aisles. The clerics in the cathedral are well-versed in the archeology of perpetual flights. They study the pigeons several hours a day, the alfaqui assured me. "All the doors here are in the vernacular," he added. He didn't look like the type who would intentionally deceive.
The alfaqui pointed me down the corridors towards the asymptotic doors. I passed through the corridors, and I never passed through the corridors. I was joined along the way by an epopt of the Ogival Mysteries.
"What have you witnessed?"
"We study the pigeons several hours a day," said the epopt. She pulled me aside into a zero-gravity intrados where no pigeons could be seen. She touched a voussoir with the palm of her hand, and it touched her. "This is the Cathedral of a Thousand and One Refuges," she explained.
"Can you tell me more?"
"The cyma reversa represents the union of the concave and the convex." She illustrated this with her hands.
"Are all the doors here metamorphic?"
She became a pigeon.