Well potentially getting high from some smoke is slightly better than eating syrup that might be alien jizz for all he knows or scraped from the bone marrow of some humanoid life forms.

"Do I just touch it?" He eyes the glyph, trying to remember what Carlisle had him do for the rock. There's a hint of hesitation as he reaches out to do so, part of him a little fearful that it won't work. That the glyph won't respond to him because he's a boring, non-magical human who isn't even good enough to power a piece of paper let alone a rock that will keep his plants temperate.