As far as we know Neanderthals had no language.
Some scientists believe they sang to each other
in wordless notes that could’ve meant anything.
Like, before the body, the silk slip; or before 
thirst, a blue clay cup with the artist’s initials 
carved on the bottom. They made sounds
crude as a first kiss, crooned warm as animal 
hide just flayed. We never really know
what it is we’re saying to each other, even 
with the fine stitching of sentences and 
syntax’s elaborate technology. Every truth 
I’ve ever loved has been profligate 
imprecision. Tonight let’s peel certainty  
like a fruit with a rind too bitter to eat. 
I’ll use a low tremolo to say I like the place 
your stubble starts to change direction 
on your cheek; a simple hum to say 
and not say, Right there, like that. 

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First Published in Harpur Palate.