BEAUTY

by Michael Shorb

At Chauvet, sea-
changes drummed while
the father of artists
slathered pigments on
the blackened throats of caves

stick figure hunters
held their breath in
Paleolithic dawn

amber deer and yellow-
horned oxen
bristling in herds
bears and rainbows
beckoning

a century was nothing

a word crept forth, useless

it was only beauty

we longed for.