This place is deep, and I feel nearer to
wild nature than to my humanity.
The sun and my cell signal long ago
abandoned me. Darkly damp moss hangs low
from mottled, stretching limbs of ancient trees,
brushing against my skin as I pass through.
My footfalls on the noiseless, leaf-strewn ground
cause spores of strange fungi to swirl around:
I wonder, then, if I breathe deeply in
can I inhale them into my damp lungs?
Grow into part of this forest: brown shelf
mushrooms sprouting from my once-mortal self,
setting down roots til I, too, stand among
the wild things here, and shed this human skin.