Communion

The Lascaux caves
were painted in the flicker
of a burning wick – light
barely bright enough
to countervail the cavern’s veil
of near impenetrable dark –
but some illumination in it

promulgated art –
and in that rocky walled
recess allowed access,
at once, to all the paradox
of heart – evoking
dreamlike yet familiar
long parades of leaping deer

and bulky mastodons –
whose rush and flood –
delicacy – hushed design –
remind us we have
always gone to any lengths
to coax divine blood
out of earthly line.

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