ALTAMIRA

Today (early, early

this morning) I wrote a longer

poem and a haiku

they were warm like the Sun

radiating light, but with

just a sense of the

sharp clarity of Winter. The

wind changing and an

edge (just an

edge) on the air.

In reality though, I am

a throwback, am cast back

to the ancient, archetypal

darkness of the cave artists

of Altamira,

squeezing through to the

sacred cave apertures, where

as in

a kind of birth, the walls

open, reveal

the perspectives of things

screw the lid off the

jar of inner

symbols

lets the shaman ghost world walk

lets the spirits assume

our voice, see

through our eyes

turn the

cave inside out

make us, force us, let us

speak.