All I've Got Left Is Time Travel No. 2

[TranquillityBase]

where the Sun God rests his hands
worn rough from making mountains.

Is sublime. 
The rest of the poem has arresting images, but what I think is missing is an exploration of what it all means, of the inner lives of these men and women from times past. Or something like that. A second layer of meaning below the mere circumstance of hunting and killing.

Is the poet and therefore the reader merely observing? It would banal, if so.

Well, I at least came up with two good lines 

I would love to add that second layer but that's exactly what we can never again know about them.  We didn't understand their way of life at the time, except for a few who lived among them and who didn't write about it.  This is as close to them as I can imagine with facts we know.