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 look
right at me
and I don’t know
where to begin.

I begin to grow,
unfurl, hum
softly.

5.