Ochre: Revisited

 Hawk cry,
keening.
It pierces me somewhere
in this soul cave
in my chest
and shakes the paintings
from the walls.
Ochre elk and buffalo
breathing in,
and out,
and in -
steam puffs
from hollow nostrils,
lungs expanding
in the depth and dark.

I hold the torch,
golden-light
a honey on the walls.