Relic
In the bowl between the mountains
where the buffalo graze
I hid a piece of myself
in the long, yellow grass
for you, or someone like you,
to find.
But the years passed—
my kind disappeared
and so did the buffalo.
The new folk had coarser sight.
Unseen, I watched their towns boom, flourish,
fade, vanish.
Still that piece of me lies
in the long, yellow grass
through snow and storm
waiting to be found
by someone with eyes
as sharp as yours.