Light Detection and Ranging

There’s not much archaeology
In these valleys of silver lakes—
A collection of ancient pits,
Some ochre rock art on the cliffs.

But that’s still a few thousand years,
At least two hundred generations
Of lived human habitation,
Whole humans in each one of them,

Never mind there were few of them,
Sparse, dedicated foragers,
Seasonal shelters dug in dirt,
Summers rotating through the lakes.

Project yourself back a minute.
Imagine a life at random,
One whole existence, end to end,
In those given circumstances,

Whenever that human landed,
Voices, stories, hunger, teamwork,
Days you felt were pretty worthless,
Days you felt things were wonderful,

Whatever the rules, whatever
The gossip, whatever crises,
Playful or violent disputes.
You did what you did, then you went.