The mushrooms stand? The mushrooms sit? patiently.
Underneath everything is passed.
In the air its children flow into your nostrils. Do they take hold?
A million from one. One from one. How can this be?
How can we be? Can there be a we?
We is an illusion. The mushroom knows this.
The mushroom passes everything from one to one. We are all itself.
A mushroom has no individual heart. I take comfort in this.