Lascaux

I felt your breath in the cave,
your warmth against stone.

I am an echo within the lines,
rubbed on the flanks of the red bull.

I am one with the old god,
powerless now, both of us,
the hunters gone,
the smudge pots and fires silent.

No shamans pray for the bison
to run to us in surrender
welcoming our spears.

We are all, beast and man,
meat now, dried and inedible.

The old god is a voice
spoken by bats on the wind.

I felt your body in the cave
as a stir in the air,
a note in the flute of existence.
I moaned to you through
the quivering breath of spiders.

Did you hear me?