sometimes I do ceremony.

I stick only to a daily morning
ritual and try to strengthen
some resolve with consumption.
I feed the cats, clean their
litter box, then stretch
and write my dreams down.
then I walk the neighborhood
to soak up attention . 

sometimes I just let things pass
like cravings or
weather.
we do that for others;
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
and robust trunk.
you walk in and look
right at me
but I don’t know
where to begin.

I begin to grow,
unfurl, hum
softly.

“datura moon”