chauvet cave

even in the dark the spirits will play.

even in the cold, wet and ebony filled cave, even there I hear the violin.

the chandelier touching the ground and the scent of mildew and rock .

red hands painted on the walls and running horses alive by the light of the fire.

old and new, now and then, no sense of time, no thoughts that could bind you to this plane.

the language a story, a fable in motion.

the art etched with black coal on ancient rock and the mythology of man so much more infinite and mystifying.

a touch bending and rippling in time, in our minds.

where they stood, I stand, a hungry lover and an angry man.