The root pushes up green shoots.
In the lot at the end of the street, visible bands of magenta.
First the crepe myrtles, then the pale tree lilacs, then magnolias.
We exclaim at their suddenness, their exponential amends for absence.
I want just for the moment to think only of this—
Something like profusion, something like a surplus, please not soon taken away—
Not the effort it cost, not the blind tunneling through softening loam.
In response to Via Negativa: Have a nice day.