Christopher T. George

Cueva de las Manos, Patagonia

We press hands on cave walls, blow paint
from hollow bones to spray ochre, yellow,

blood-red hues round silhouetted fingers,
while we chant, and a nose flute’s melody
 
charms the spirits deep inside the rock.
Outside, galaxies startle the black.

Araucaria trees stretch searching fingers
toward the stars, and a lone coyote howls.