NOT THE SLIGHTEST SHY

You just pop up wherever

you can: hillside, curbside,

across my street, in an empty lot

that’s been left wild—

perhaps not by lack of love

but by love—

you sway and sway

among the tall grasses

and tangled vines, and open

your bright orange cups

to the summer sky.

Dear Golden Poppies,

I’ll join you! I’ll turn my heart

towards the sun, and say, Kiss me!