Two hundred centuries dead,
yet somehow more alive
than those who stand and gaze in awe,
the buffalo lowers its great head,
tenses, prepares to charge.
Two hundred centuries have passed
and yet these faded, ochre marks
still catch the essence of the beast.
No photo – realism here, just a line,
a curve of muscle, oval of an eye,
a twist of horn. And yet in each
stretched sinew, each extended joint,
energy flows. There is no likeness here
of any buffalo, but the lines depict
the movement and the heavy grace.
The artist painted with the hand and eye
of one who knew the essence and
the spirit, the qualities that are a buffalo.