good morning
dearest one in the dearest north
if it may concern you
i come baring a mundane truth.
the truth is that all of our friends
have vacated their homes, for
they have sought horizons new
in the glamorous groves
of cities afloat, towering Venices
lighting up drawbridges along
the M62 - like moths to a brighter light
than the one we continue to circle.

so i have to ask
where it is that our destinies lay
are we too destined to follow the
yellow brick dream? it’s just,
i’m acutely aware of a problem
with this proposition.
for this dimming lamp happens
to be our home
a paris of our own, even if
that silly magazine decried it
‘without soul’
i myself am certainly not
nor do i believe it of you,
for you yourself are the heart
woven amongst these terraced streets