I want to dig up this patch of ground
In some magical way that would permit me
to do so without disturbing a millimeter of it.
and then to place it within a shadow box
to hang on my wall, where I would gaze at it
daily, or better yet, to package it in such a way
that I could place it in your hands, where
you could breathe its perfumes and truly see
the depth of its livingness and be filled, as I am,
with transcendent wonder that such a thing
could be, that it could lie in total obscurity
deep in a woods to sing its song only for
the crows and deer and pines and be
content with that, gloriously.