The Hunt

I know our first ancestor
echoing across the grand
canyon of an age ducked in

to the cave after an unlucky hunt
to face his moaning children’s sunken
eyes.  He wrapped their shoulders

in bear skin, showed them

to pluck a smoking stick

from the fire, sketch a bison

with the charcoal tip upon

the cool shale.  For a time

soot spears pierced wool hide

twig people ripped open the animal

grilled its flesh, filled their bellies

and danced under the stars

on the wall of rock.  He who

passed his bones down showed

us the imagination is a hawk.