(The Sea Ranch, Sonoma coast)

Mid-September, and the purple iris
are long gone, as is the spring green,
so showy when we were last here,
but what’s flaunting its flowing
manes like so many show ponies
along the coast highway is
the Pampas grass—

not to be outdone by the profusion
of naked ladies on their slender
stalks, their soft pink heads
bowed groundward, though
whether by weight or reverence,
it’s hard to tell.

One is invasive, tossing its shaggy head;
the other is a late-summer dancer
bobbing on her slender, leafless stem.

And, if beguiled by the sight of
the amaryllis belladonna against
a weather-worn picket fence,
you pull off to the side of the road
to photograph the naked ladies,
be sure to lean in and inhale deeply,
then step away, a bit dizzy,

as is appropriate when you
find yourself dazzled by
such bashful beauty.