sometime in the cave
we smeared pigment ,dripping
we wrapped our arms around ourselves
fearing we could get out
walking the rivers edge
stones rise to the surface
ribs shed their skin
revealing a whir
a house for a thousand souls
cycling through
pulsing raw like locamotive
thrilling to see in real time
sometime in the open
each rib ascended by carpenters
falling together as if in reverse
cradling a story
giving birth to ancestors
with a gentle quiet glow
a self draining echo
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