Chauvet

Emerging like a sculpture 
From a canvas carved from stone,
A herd of charcoal horses churns 
The dust to blood and bones.

The torchlight this illusion 
Makes even clearer still, 
As from the flames the tossing manes 
Appear to gather will.

They thunder past on hooves 
Whose clap has not been heard 
Since darkness rode the mountain down 
In clouds of snorting earth.