Poetry's task is to increase the available stock of reality, R P Blackmur said.

Art keeps its newness because it's at once unforgettable and impossible to remember entirely. Art is too volatile, multiple and evaporative to hold on to. It's more chemical reaction, one you have to re-create each time, than a substance. Art's discoveries are also, almost always, counter to ordinary truths.

Art-making is learned by immersion. You take in vocabularies of thought and feeling, grammar, diction, gesture, from the poems of others, and emerge with the power to turn language into a lathe for re-shaping, re-knowing your own tongue, heart, and life.

An ordinary hole beside a path through the woods might begin to open to altered worlds.

As this life is not a gate, but the horse plunging through it.

Houses are fundamental metaphors for self, world, permeability, transition, interiority, exteriority, multiplicity, and the power to move from one state of being to another.

I'd say that the middle stanza is closer: that's the place where the poem ranges unexpectedly into a different realm.