JAWBONE OF H. HABILIS
Valley dust in a hot Afar simoom:
he stoops to drink from a shady pool.
In silence inconceivable. It will be two and a half
million years before the first rounded vowel
drags sentiment from a human pharynx,
Edenic shriek or tentative endearment.
Still, I feel your tooth decay. Look at that jaw:
you wince at the cold water, don’t you? Me too.