All spring the scattered bands gathered,
the People, the Human Beings,
all those like themselves on this earth —
Lakota and Cheyenne and Arapaho.
Movement and magnetism, wildness
in the air, the power of the buffalo
and the People swarming and flowing north
to the sweetness of the old land

and the old ways, up on the Powder River,
out along the Rosebud and Greasy Grass
called by whites the Little Big Horn.