In other times, on darker nights,
The ones who carved the stones would quake
At forest howls, at spirit streams,
At shadows flitting through the trees.
But us: we see the lights of planes,
We hear the distant hum of roads,
We search the nightjar – tick that box –
We walk straight lines of forest tracks.
Oblique we stand – their world breaks through –
There’s distance here that we can’t know.
We hear the birds, we sense the fear:
Religion, science, mean little here.
Our pride and indolence are new,
These creatures scream from something true.