for Soli at almost four

Up Like the Grass

The sky is streaked with springtime, white peaks and gray clouds,
green finds the hills, sun and geese and the way you say peregrine falcon
so all knowing though really, your favorite is the American badger,
always insist on the full name and inside the naturalist center we
surprise you with a still one, your instinct to pet her fur, before I
hold back your hand.  You say she's so soft, like she's real,
pick up the horn of a sheep, help rebuild the home of ground squirrels,
wander reckless, because you've always been so of the earth.  At almost four,
you jump over stones, race off the path, fixate, then fly, fixate, then fly,
your world, your earth, your world, your sister, your den, your nest. 
How one early May Monday, I came home from work, made dinner, took a bath, 
and found you new, in my arms by bedtime, the passage of your strong shoulders,
how quickly you found us, burrowed in,
just pushed your way up like the balsam root, up like the grass.