Compendium

The mind is large: an auditorium
       that could shelter whole neighborhoods
unhomed by a natural disaster. Or maybe it is
       some kind of ancient labyrinth
whose blueprint could only be memorized
       by touching each object along the way
and reciting their names in order. Then,
       weeks or months afterwards, one
finally steps into the center and comes
       face-to-face with the creature
that sat so long in the dark waiting
       for your arrival. It asks you
what you've brought besides that filthy
       ball of string which used to be red 
but now looks caked with mud. Wouldn't you
       like to know, you say, handing it to him
and taking his place in the center as it moves
       toward the opening in the hedge.