National Park

by Alex Greenberg

“I am glad I will not be young in a future without wilderness.”
-Aldo Leopold

The prairie is contained within a rough sketch
of mountain, its trees
whistling out

their scratched tune like a child
with fingers too small
to cover the holes
of her recorder.

All this time the coyote’s breath
has been thickening
to smog.

The same electricity that pumps
his heart fuels the fence
he languishes in.

Even the hives
of the blackberries have shut,
their purple grain dried up

and chapped. The rings
beneath the tree’s bark
tell of its age,

of its failed marriages
and the vacant sky shapes it
as much as its own seed.

The only thing left to do
Here is to clear a space
In the rubble
and cup your hands
around the sun
like the face

of your future child.