The Buffalo Will Be Fine

Art by Will Pope

A young robin stares at the bud of a tree, waiting
for it to open. He thinks it will be in the next
seventeen minutes. “Wait for it, wait for it...”
he sings (not being able to say the words with
the normal slow brevity required).

A pine beetle sighs
"That spruce tasted like heaven."
Another dead tree.

"Can you eat the sun?"
a newborn foal asks his mom.
"No, now eat your grass."

Swimming on his back,
a beaver looks at the stars.
"Where does my youth go?"