I Used to Work Here Once
A husk of darkness swallows those last seeds of light
fighting the horizon
where Knaresborough castle stands
tall as a knight resilient.
Birds call each other home. Calves are quiet.
Without lamp or guide, a girl
clambers over stile and furrow
the cycle of seasons
ingrained in her bones as the tide
ridges sand, or rings of an oak
map winters without nourishment.
She crosses the yard without stir or bark,
part of the dark, disappearing
where a door once stood.