The men barrel out to curse the full moon:
'Fucking, fucking, fucking' booms across the dales,
across lost mills, canals and railway lines,
the woods we passed this afternoon
that trapped the light and glowed. Tonight
they will be ripe with owls and nightingales,
the fox, the hare, the toadstool and the slug.
Tonight they will be ready, but we sleep.
Helen Sandler 2005