Even the birds
whenever I meet a friendly woman a flower comes to mind:
gladiola for the large and pure of heart,
jasmine for wide and starry-eyed,
hyacinth for the lusty, daisies for the childlike.
But when I see you braiding your hair
in silent intimacy, each turn and counterturn
resembles the journey of your questing spirit,
and I see you as one woman bearing many, not mythical
and larger than life, but various and real.
You are the prairie full of wild prairie roses,
the trail-side filled with purple amarantus,
lattice and hedgerow, the vines of morning glory.