Dave Bonta watches a small woodland plant do something quietly urgent. Early meadow-rue has separate male and female plants, "separate houses," and no scent or nectar to attract insects. Its only go-between is the wind. The poem turns this into a puzzle: how can two plants, standing apart, ever meet?
The images are vivid and a little tender. The male plant sends up "clouds" that "dangle yellow weather," while the female reaches out with "ten-fingered hands." The speaker seems fascinated, even admiring, as if the plants were making a hopeful gesture. There is also a ticking clock: the plant has left the open meadow, so it must flower before the trees leaf out and the wind rises out of reach.
The ending is gentle rather than sad. The male flowers vanish "into the fertile household / of the earth," so the poem moves from separate houses to one shared home. The mood is curious, attentive, and quietly awed by how fragile and resourceful nature can be.