after May Swenson

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 white eye.