by Marie Ponsot

The green vine is moving.

The motion’s too slow to be

visible but it is racing,

racing feeling for a way

across the wall of fence

it’s scrawling on, inches added every day.

Forwarding, sunwarding, it claims

its place. Green states its claim. It writes

the lesson of the day: longing,

longing coming true while arcing

out and up according to the instruction

of desire. Sun-hungry its tip has tilted

toward sun-space. Already

it is speeding leaf-notes out of its root

all along the sprigless budless thread

still scribbling the deed of its location.

In two weeks or one or four

morning                    glory.

Excerpt from the poetry collection EASY. Copyright © 2009 by Marie Ponsot. Find the collection at

Photo: “Morning Glory Vines” by Linda D, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED