With eyes open, transparent as windows,
awareness becomes an atmosphere,
a notional idea of rain apart from clouds,
the clapping hands rhythm of water on stone.
Silhouettes on the cave wall, the women
fill them in with colors from the earth,
ocher spit and fingers blackened by
the wet ash of tapers gone cold.
A young boy makes sounds to a young girl.
She does not understand what he says.
An old woman, maybe the oldest,
takes the boy’s hand and leads
him into the night where he will tend the fire,
and keep the beasts at bay.