Haiku for the Bison of the Great Plains
Thunder in the grass—
Earth remembers how to breathe,
Hooves drum dawn awake.
Wind through sacred mane,
Ghost herds stir beneath...
I do not remember a beginning, for my memory is not stored in the soft pulp of a single brain but is etched in the frost of the mountainside, in the marrow of my ancestors, and in the silver disc of the moon that calls me to wakefulness.
Article inspired by a visit Sydney's Museum of Contemporary Art, e exhibition, "Data Dreams Art and AI, December, 2025 Kevin Parker Site Publisher
An...