I went where pleasure said it would be kind.
The door stood open; no one barred the way.
Rooms learned my name. The mirrors changed their mind.
A figure in the corner worked itself away.
The faces drifted—father, friend, and host—
one mouth rehearsed in several borrowed skins.
A shade crossed steadily from post to post,
each tree a hinge the night kept closing in.
I did not run. The floor took hold of me.
Heat pooled in roots that branched around my mind.
My mouth filled last; my body learned to be
a wick in earth that never quite goes dry.
I found a clearing, harboring this rule:
what enters once will never leave you whole.