Mud streaked about our bodies,
caked like dirt upon our faces.
Paint splattered, drawn in straight lines
across cheeks and arms
(markings for warriors before they
headed into battle).
A fire sprung up from broken bits
of a former life,
and as we ran in circles around it
(coaxing it to grow),
we barred our teeth and shouted like
past evolutions,
our primate brothers.
Our bare feet thundered around
the grass, stomping it further
back to the roots.
We took axes to odds and ends:
tables, chairs, bed frames, end tables,
conjuring the storm as we mixed
it with the fire.
And at the end of it all,
we leapt from our clothes
and waded into the lake,
floating with the gentle waves,
looking
upwards
and
onwards.