Born from the White Bison’s Dream

I was born from the breath of dawn,
When the White Bison dreamed beneath the sky—
His spirit stirred the sleeping plains,
And whispered life into my sigh.
Feathers fell like sacred snow,
Each one a prayer, each one a flame;
The rivers sang the songs of old,
And called my spirit by its name.
I walk where thunder meets the bone,
Where mountain shadows learn to pray;
The wind braids secrets in my hair,
And paints the stories of the day.
The stars remember every step,
Their silver eyes, eternal, keen—
They saw the birth of buffalo fire,
They guard the hearts of those unseen.
White smoke rises from the ground,
Carrying voices to the sky’s wide seam—
And still I wander, still I breathe,
Born from the White Bison’s dream.