The Ram God Khnum
The god’s curved horns come from a ram
now long extinct. Each kink or whorl
is lost in nature, not on him.
He takes a step into the hall.
His starry hands will twist and twirl
gods and men on a potter’s wheel.
The Nile flows on; the crocodile
still feeds; above, the birds still reel.
Eye and cartouche mark page and stone,
where time left them unreadable.
We humans live our lives alone.
Each in our turn we come to kneel.
Is it some sort of miracle
that walks this god into our lives?
Has Khnum come as the osprey dives –
to bow our head, to break our will?
His left hand holds crisp British air.
We die, not him, and that’s the deal.
Naked, I gaze on what destroys.
The sun sets, and the pain I feel
is chaff departing. Girls and boys,
beware the gods! They come to call.
They live, and we are present there.
We are the shadow, they the real.
The Ram God Khnum
THank you, Ryder - Khnum certainly does have horns! They are quite impressive. I'm very glad to hear those opening lines work - they were my inspiration for the poem, and I wasn't at all sure I'd made it clear enough for the point to come through for readers. Species come and go, gods continue. 
Cheers,
John
Cheers,
John