In your lonesome
coastal canyon
you send rhizomes
through the sand. Queen
of California flowers—overexposed
in my open hand.
Why you stabilize
this hillside
I will never understand—
I would let it slide
but I am not so married
to the land.
You hold the air!
You burn my eyes!
Your crinkled neon white
and ruff of yolk-gold
enough to please
our native bees—
I would not love this place
if you could leave.