but I feel the root rot and darken
without altar, water
or speech.

you walk in and
I’m here now
growing into a black stem.
you walk in and look
right at me
and I don’t know
where to begin.
but I found the
aperture.
you walk in and
look right at me and
my shiny white teeth
forge a new smile.

I begin to grow,
unfurl, hum
softly.

“datura moon”