As we walk around, our views of our surroundings change; lines that look parallel from one view appear to be converging from another . . . and so on. The following poem by Massachusetts poet Martha Collins reflects on such view-changes:
House, Tree, Sky by Martha Collins
If, when the pond is still
and nothing is moved
and the light is right.
you consider the angles
and make the proper approach,
you come to a bend
where a small white house
against a deep sky meets
the same white house against
the blue water:
stair rests on stair,
door opens on door,
tree grows out of tree.