i see them hungry, the cavemen
hunting mammoth near the mountains.
the cavewoman at home,
hungrier – wondering

not of protein, but of soul –
this diet of hers, it is cold
for the heart – a gathering of berries
of nuts, of bones

the cavemen come home
not today, not tomorrow
but soon – with fat and ivory
with fur and meat

the cavewoman does not smile
she tends the fire
silently
a hide must be tanned

i hear echoes in the paint
on the walls of caves in France
i smell loss in the distance
between now and then

I see the caveman singing
his story into the embers
as they flail upward toward the stars
– the cavewoman does not sing along
she is hungry
for more than this