i would have told her
ceanothus blueblossomed
overnight, except
slow is how we are taking it,
slow as siltstone sets, slow as spring
lambs slogging through bush,
slow, as a banana slug might
slide through sprouted yarrow.
every poppy i passed today
was open, i wanted to tell her,
to ask, how gold does trefoil
come in outside your terrace,
how many monarchs mounting
sun cup did you count, did pink
petal, did balm of heaven
make it down your throat?
i would have, except
mukethe kawinzi lives and works on a ranch in california. she loves the goats and adores the grass but is happy, in recent months, to be in the world alongside humans once more.