It too knows,
seen its brethren slaughtered, eaten—
felt the raw course 
of illness in their blood,
crushed skulls, aged bones
and bitter cold
yet they lope off walls,
graze with ease in the fields,
stands easy in the winds,
flits past closed buds
like nothing is of consequence
like everything is, as is
yet my tears flop
on plump skin,
it slips and grapples
against its own
inevitability