The Weasels We Smoked out of the Bank
Ran along the rowan branch, a whole family,
Furious with ill-contained lightning
Over the ferny falls of clattering coolant.
After the time-long Creation
Of this hill-sculpture, this prone, horizon-long
Limb-jumble of near-female
The wild gentle god of everywhereness
Worships her, in a lark-rapture silence.
But the demons who did all the labouring
Run in and out of her holes
Crackling with redundant energy.
—Ted Hughes
—found in Remains of Elmet (1979)