True forest paths are not seen
but felt
it is fair to say
the engineered tracks
of man are just a gash
of impudent human display

observe the busy insects
fly passages through the air
they’ll not prop
at copse or rock
they will find their own way there

and the animals
patter many trails
with a purpose we often guess not ken
they wend their way
over hill and dale
then back home again
with nary a blight
touch the landscape so light
could we aspire to accomplish
this when

our heavy footprint
leaves such a dent
on hillside, plain and fen 

such a blight 
such an intrusive pity
the forest is sliced 
as with so many knives 
the forest is cut up as a city