The Arising

If you sit quietly long enough,

usually alone at dawn,

before the careful inhabitants
of Saturday’s polished cars

roll from these tidy suburbs
to their computered cubicles

a silken shimmering
may arrive across
the inky cave wall

of your spacious mind

as an orange bison
reveals himself.

Do not speak now
nor reach to touch
this rippled flesh

those tufts of brilliant fur

but feel the ancient wildness
pounding on your heart’s
grass-green earth

calling you truly home;

for his blood and bones and breath,
his potent untamed glory,

are yours’ to fully claim

as you and he across
your life unbounded

joyfully together roam.