Circles, Eggs, and Spirals

It’s a little comical
That you wonder at the shapes
Your ancestors left on rocks—

They’re the shapes your children make,
And you’re the rock art’s offspring,
And the universe itself

Is awfully prone to spheres
A little off, long oblongs,
And a great many spirals.

The tracing of your hands, now,
That was an innovation—
Signatures of selved bodies.