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

[busker]

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.

I don't think I was being helpful there at all, other than asking you to write a different poem, just because 
Having in mind:

                            In that open field
If you do not come too close, if you do not come too close,
On a summer midnight, you can hear the music
Of the weak pipe and the little drum
And see them dancing around the bonfire
The association of man and woman
In daunsinge, signifying matrimonie—
A dignified and commodiois sacrament.
Two and two, necessarye coniunction,
Holding eche other by the hand or the arm
Whiche betokeneth concorde. Round and round the fire
Leaping through the flames, or joined in circles,
Rustically solemn or in rustic laughter
Lifting heavy feet in clumsy shoes,
Earth feet, loam feet, lifted in country mirth
Mirth of those long since under earth
Nourishing the corn. Keeping time,
Keeping the rhythm in their dancing
As in their living in the living seasons
The time of the seasons and the constellations
The time of milking and the time of harvest
The time of the coupling of man and woman
And that of beasts. Feet rising and falling.
Eating and drinking. Dung and death.

davidgorman.com/4quartets/2-coker.htm