The days to maturity stretch before me, countless.
That risk I took, planting from the unlabelled packet.
Here is my daily labor of cultivation:
Water, weed, fertilize, prune, shelter.
My charge is now flowering, now thorny;
Willing as a weed!
She shoots out runners and vines that penetrate each crack,
Entangling me remorselessly when I long for dormant days.
The long sleeps of the cold season are out of reach.
This soil warms. This day breaks early and ends late.

Just what is it, growing here beside me,
Sinking roots into the soil I have prepared?
What fruits and seeds will sprout someday,
Colorful, fecund, surprising?
Sun rises. I rise. Taking up my tools,
I lean against the future,
Borrow strength from the sun.