For Future Woods

A smear of ochre on a trail
Through a dense, conifer forest

May look a little bit like blood—
That’s enough to signal people

That other people were here once.
In this case, it was a girl’s grave,

Buried eight thousand years ago
In the far northern hemisphere,

But in another case a cave
Along the South African coast,

In another, a sandstone cliff
In the American desert,

Painted thousands, tens of thousands,
A hundred thousand years ago.

The thing about people’s signals
Is that they’re sent to each other,

But not only do they outlast
Generations of intended

Audiences, they can still catch
The unimagined attention

Of unimaginable worlds
Of future civilizations.

It’s just a fact. People search for
Signals meant for other people.

A smear of ochre is a cache
Of potential meanings as much

As any other animal’s
Stash of seeds are potential trees,

As likely no more strategic
Of the creatures than of those trees.