i was alone in the museum
me and buffalo on the snowy plains
the wind chilled my bones, my light clothing
whipped in the wind, their dark thick fur barely moved,
they were stoic, moving slowly from place to place,
alone on the snow
as we all were moving in singles and doubles,
a few babes in arms through the galleries,
weaving through each other to find the best
food for something deep inside
unspoken, not quite a hunger, a yearning
maybe, something that needs filling
as the buffalo also ranges across the snow
looking for something we cannot see
below the pristine white.
we are all searching.