whirlwind, foundation, lightning, den, prey.
Who speaks from the whirlwind?
Who laid the earth's foundation?
Whose voice is lightning?
The mysterious shadows in the den.
The devotion of the hunter, the prey's fear.
The cave has its own voice. A fearful
whisper at the back, the wind
at the ear. The shadows find motion
in the den's soft echoes,
in the soft warm earth.
We were born from our mother clay
before prey learned to fear.
Our eyes were ignited by lightning.
Our lives are longer than our shadows
and shorter than our breath.
These hands only found the clay,
they did not form it. The thunder
is not our voice. We live in the den
lest we, in our turn, become prey.
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