How optimistic
the dead become with time,
their smiles slowly broadening
down there in the dark;
sensing continuity
as cardinals feed
in the overhanging branches
in their former yards, trees
that were not large enough
to hold a feeder
when they passed;
finding peace
in how muffled
the sound of strife
has become;
knowing water works like hope,
trickling into the earth
after a needed rain;
taking joy
in the presence
of roots.
