We watch and we think and we think
we feel but have no sense of it
at all, this rupture, this fall and
recapture, this ecstasy of death
We wonder, will it come for us
who did so little, tried so hard
to refrain, to remain untouched
by its distant intractable hurt?
We shall see and shall understand
all in good time, this waste of life
this cold and hunger, fire and gas
elsewhere: that it is all about us
Second Nature: James Lindesay’s Poetry 