Living as You do, with so many dead ends

Is like inhabiting an infinite, beautiful mansion

Filled with mysterious chambers

And Spirits inside them calling out to be known

But you close Them in, lock the doors, keep Them apart from You

Tether your Self to but a handful of rooms where You “live”

Gliding through these limited, chosen spaces in the same returning sequence

As if on a clockworks, retreating to the familiar

Your fingertips never more than graze any of the doorknobs

That open these exquisite and varied worlds

—And the minds of their Gatekeepers—

Spreading out from the edges of the dial