On a hill track near here, a sign warns walkers to watch for "underrunners". These are actually underground passages carved by rain in the clay soil, but the word intrigues me and makes me imagine strange creatures living down there.
This poem is very much a first draft so be kind!
Once they knew the sun. The earth betrayed them,
gave way beneath their feet. You may hear them howling
but you will not see them. They gnaw roots,
snatch at the occasional pale insect.
They wander passages where pale fungi bloom,
running, always running, they keep in time
with the footsteps of those above.
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