A Poem Found in a Cave

Editor’s Note: Discovered
Behind a stone in deep,
Barren dirt.

Off on ancient ridges by
Falls that tumble down to
A hand that waves at
Me in the dark I

Seem to see walls in mist and
Gray men in suits tapping
Down alleys that I knew I could
Find once but lost
To a song sung on cold

Nights by fires that burn in
Deep canyon caves that we
Can only find by the bright
Lights of hands traced on

Ancient ridge walls. I…

Think so much of days in
Forests and feelings of running
Like a child lost…

In the dark.

In European Cathedrals in…

Churches crept through on rainless
Nights. Images of age and dust
Clinging to corners I
Cannot see. Candlelight.

Murmurs and Hymns
Sung, somewhere, in
The distance. While

Soft steps echo down aisles trod
Down by countless feet through
The long years. Handprints that
Run deep into walls, a
Mark, a
Plaque of people that once came…
But now sleep, somewhere,
Below broken stones of
Broken cemetery lawns. Yes,

Light rises up and the smell
Of incense lit by
Young boys that pay a dime
By smiling saints. Ancient
Women smiling down as
Glass shards of color
Fall on fragile floors of

Whispers I gaze up at
Paintings that
Chip. That creak with age but
Impart something beyond
Us as we…

Pass, crawl on knees across
Tired stones to
Tired men that read by candles that burn
Beside quiet eyes of women who
Mumble and whisper…

And whisper of
Time and death and

Caving in Altamira

Descending once in sub-
Terranean gloom you notice:
Cold and heat and tall points
Of stone that reach up to
A sky, never seen. Such

Darkness here. Rocks that creep
With moss. Tepid puddles of
Water in distant corners. Then

I imagine a torch in hand, fingers
That grope knowingly across
Rough walls. To a spot to a
Place where chatter is heard and
The stillness of tomb-like quiet.

Hearts beating you can hear
Hearts beating here.

Then you look up and see an
Old man I think with his
Frail hands against the wall. The
Torch lights it up as
Bright colors blow from hollow tubes –

Red. Deep reds that
Emblazon the rock, leaving a shadow
Of a hand that reaches out to us
From across time, from
The mist and madness
Of ceaseless centuries.

Note: At the caves in Altamira, Spain,
Prehistoric hands appear on the walls.
Signatures from the past.