For the Buffalo
Teresa Ward

I rode into
the thundering hills
until the earth
became the herd itself.
A rush of ancient blood
made a common path
across the continuum.
Native sadness stood
two-hundred deep
and spoke of distant time.
They walked this ground…
their red-skinned brothers
breathing freedom and singing life.
I listened to their music on the wind
until the restless night appeared.
As I rode toward Orion
the hunter watched with tears my
westward move under the yellow moon.