SEEING LIKE THE BUFFALO

Credit: Tom Murphy (source) 

The buffalo know to face a storm head-on,

to not turn away and risk the snow covering them,

but facing first, causing a division, the snow

parting and blowing past.

The buffalo came thundering at Standing Rock,

to defend the warriors trying to save the river.

Buffalo have deep earth wisdom and, it seems,

a strong sense of justice,

as do all wild things who are suffering the fate

of the voiceless, uncared for by those chasing 

oil and weath at the expense of every living thing -

including, in time, themselves.

Sigh.

That I see these things with clear eyes

does not help. Taking the existential view

does not let me unsee a hundred and fifty

little girls, what's left of them buried

as the rockets fall, buildings crumble,

and the insanity of war begins again,

thanks to one deluded demented old man

awake at two in the morning 

(where were his minders?)

deciding he could because he can.

Like the buffalo, I am looking at it head on.

Long before the world
recovers from its madness,

I'll be gone.