Dave Bonta's "Cat kin" begins with a small, familiar image: the soft white fur of pussy willow catkins, which the title's "cat" seems to nod to. The poem is very short, but it moves from that quiet sight to a sudden burst of change. Everything "burst[s] into infinite novelty," as if spring, or any new beginning, arrives all at once and makes the world feel endlessly fresh.
Then the poem turns with a question: "who knows the world for it." Judging by the tone, the speaker feels both wonder and a little bewilderment. If everything keeps changing so completely, how can anyone really know the world? The last line, "dressed in yesterday's dust," pulls in the opposite direction. The new is still wearing something old. The mood is hushed and curious, caught between delight at renewal and a gentle awareness that the past clings to everything, even the freshest things.