is life? It is the flash of a firefly in the night.
It is the breath of a buffalo in the wintertime.
It is the little shadow which runs across the grass
and loses itself in the sunset."
Crowfoot's last words (1890)
The sun flows
across the land, slips
through my hand like the flash of a firefly
in a warm summer night when I am quiet,
when I am ready for the demons of my sleep.
In the cool
evenings, little shadows run
across the prairie grass as the sun falls
into the heart of the earth. Chasing summer,
they slide quietly into the rich soil.
earth succumbs to white
and the breath of a buffalo captures
the crisp winter sun that rides mountains
in its low glide across the wide sky.
become impatient as the sun
pulls snow from the earth, climbs higher
above the mountains, urges green towards
the waiting buffalo and anxious fireflies.