sometimes I do ceremony.

sometimes I just let things pass.
we do that for others;
we carry our grief quietly,
bury things deep
within ourselves.

I feel the root rot and darken
without altar, water
or speech.
you walk in and
I’m here now
growing into a black trunk.
you walk in and sit
looking right at me
and I don’t know
where to begin.

I begin to grow,
unfurl, hum

softly.

 

1.

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