A carefully cultivated, fully composted first crop
of green beans–so much better than canned.
That one tunnel with the bend
where you always panic briefly and want to stop
when you can’t see either end.
A subterranean pimple, perfectly round,
on the cusp of emerging, not quite ready to pop.
The good, the bad, the ugly, the suspense,
the tension, the heat of it, the standoff.
A phoenix dragging and puking and down
and not yet gloriously finding its lift.