My name was long ago scattered to the wind,
My bones delivered to the red earth
Between the acacia and the whistling thorn
Where they lie slowly decaying

My breath was my courage
My legs my safety.
As my father taught me.

"Here," he said, pointing. "Marks by the water hole.
Two days ago. Remember.
Knowing the past you know the future."
This was his daily prayer.
His finger poked the soft clay as he spat
"The small ones, those like us
Who live on dead flesh and plants,
Do not know this.
They think only of the now.
And they are fewer.
Five sons strong like my father
And swift because they read the tracks
Know and understand the beasts
And we eat well."

We buried our dead when strength was gone
And from our own tracks we knew there was a past,
Knew the future waited for us.
We wondered about another world
Where we could all meet,
Where sons, fathers and grandfathers hunted together on the plains
And the beasts were plentiful
And we saw the tracks forwards and backwards
And understood ourselves and the way of the world.