Crowleigh

Perhaps we lack our purpose
Because we have moved too far away
From our natural rhythms, we center

Our time around sitting
In an unnatural space
40 hours a week, telling ourselves

That a job made up is living
While our brains are hardwired
For hunting and gathering, for

Raising the young that now we leave
With others, Surprised at how we are
Disconnected from our own lives.

I am sure our Eire would wonder
If her children have become pixie-led
by the beauratic English.

We should have stayed
with the Tuatha de Danann, climbed and hid
In the mists of Corrán Tuathail

Nor should our children
Have sailed away, seeking other lands,
Seldom to return.

Eiru calls back to us at Galway
And Mayo, her face flashing then disappearing
Against the florescent haze.