In Bison breath

[tectak]

In Bison Breath

In Bison breath the bursting bronze of early sun
thrusts glowing fingers through the boughs of beech.
This is the double dawn; of time itself, a course begun,
and of each day. A billion dawns proclaimed by eagle's screech.

In Bison breath here lay the beast, upon the beaded grass, and there
he stalked to cover lest the stirring mists dispersed, and clear
would be. The dark shade hides, so in to shaftless forest with the bear,
wolf, beaver, boar, the lynx and trembling deer.

In Bison breath a silence falls and shifts the air, re-balancing the day
and all the scents of night are layered, still. Telling signs appear
to those who hunt and those who would be hunted; prey
to nature's sweet and cunning curse of need and fear.

In Bison breath hear through the warming air, far triumph tamed,
an echoed roar. Another darkness lost to dawn’s pale light;
another day, another sun, another battle and a victory claimed
o’er wild and wooded Bialowieza’s cold primeval night.

In Bison breath the white hoar frost quick melts, and green the grass
once more. And where he lay and where he slept will soon spring true
to wave in winds that carry off the scents of night. So as we pass
we, too, become one transient spirit in this land; they are many, we are but a few.

Tom Kirby.
After Bialowieza. September 2010