May 20, 2021
the bison run with chango
I see you up there blocking out the sun, not quite stampeding over the mountains, storming to the coast
on your annual post winter migration to your favorite north atlantic salt lick
temperamental and gray every where you used to be even-keeled and brown
same earth shaking rumble same herding instincts still trampling everything less than you down below
legs tucked tight as if the parade of you are sleeping,
vision sheep with horns, you literally float across the river in the sky.
Frank X Walker
