Foreigner

The whir of

my car engine halts,

and I wait

as other vehicles

whiz by

one after another.

Oh, the irony

of this…

secluded in the mountains,

there is so much

traffic here!

 

As a foreigner

to this place,

I walk with

measured feet,

leaving

the smallest print

upon the brown

crust.

At last — movement,

color, texture, and

life in the wild

begins to appear.

My camera clicks,

and I squeal with glee

for the photo conquered—

the scalp

on my belt:

an untamed buffalo.

I fill his space

with modern technology,

gadgets and

gizmos, the toys

of my world.

 

Sitting in silence

in this outdoor

cathedral, I feel

reverent, relishing

the microchip of life

unfolding

before me as it has

cycled earth’s intervals

for thousands of years.

 

The bison alone upon the

mountain plain moving

to the rhythms of

survival — stark against

modern society,

he plods up the

roughed pathways,

and the wind songs gust

in seasonal harmony,

An ancient melody rises

from sun to star and

star to sun.