When The Soul Was Born

Hunters from the dark
dancers in tight bunches
consolidate together as shadow.
Waiting for first light, they wait
to see what they will become.
Hands move over
broad cavalcades of ochre;
flames glint by vigorous tools.
Maneuvering across, they move
with bright reverence
and their own deep purpose.
On the wide grassland
each thing gestures an appetite,
and its consequence.