Seven days since the first green nipple appeared from the underworld of water and root. Seizing the stone wall, hitch and latch, knit and purl; green parachute leaves, hook upon hook nailing the air, over the canopy’s arc you climb. White flower funnels; amber bees roll dusted and fragrant -wild honey, sweet syrup of labor. This extravagance of life is a deep breath in the cycle of brown roots, withered tendrils and winter’s watchful eye. May Swenson’s A City Garden In April is the inspiration for this poem…her’s is so much better.