Millersdale
William Doyle
And so everything fell upon me
Cascading indefinitely
But in a sense I felt it cement
My place in it all, my resolve
I opened up and bloomed
From a house that is no longer mine to behold
One residence wrapped in ivy
End terrace life, tilting slightly
The shape of grief is condensed
Between the glazing that framed every scene
Immense and excellent mess
That was floating and wild and free
It’s no golden age or golden longing
Just iron cast, monolithic
Reminders of the lack of a tether
As light as the days were alive
The open fire
The flames of creation
The flames of a lessening dread