perhaps he went missing one day to be
swallowed by the dust, trod into the earth by
the thousands of years.

we found him too late, i think:
the scorched ground finally spat him back
at a few shovels’ prodding.

he was only twelve when he died,
a man and not a man:
                      he gripped acheulian playthings with his thick hands,
                      with wide eyes wondered at his own ingenuity—

only sockets now, those eyes.

he strode straight and high, rode two tall legs
like you and i; and those empty eyes once shone something
terribly human.
                          we might find him in any crowd
in shopping malls on christmas day,
in city streets’ kinetic sway


but you would recognize his australopithecine smile.