Black stone figure
of a proto-human
carried by a man
of my father’s lineage.
Or was it myself?
Walking up and out of a deep cut
in the bare earth,
a city-scape in the background
of my childhood.

The memory of this dream
leaving it’s mark
on my body, brain, and blood
no doubt, but where
is the lexicon to decipher
it’s lost language?

Jumping off the spring-board of my mind,
diving into the body’s silent depths,
ocean of the heart.
Could I find there buried
in the primal mud
the gift
of this wisdom?