I have incinerated The Name.  It was mute,
unlike cacti or road-kill of opossum addressing me as: Thou. 

Since then
never can I recover the daze
when on that immemorial night

our foremothers
emerged from desert caves,

looked to the East, heard
the jackals’ yip & scurry, 
consulted
the moon’s gaze,
                                & pealed lamentations….

Have their howls faded, or  
do I still discern,
the pitch higher
than a mosquito at one’s ear,

of their teeth & their
dry hair com-
pressing into cold earth?