White Line.

 

You are music to me.

You are music to me,

A constantly changing song;

And when you move you are a flowing stream

Glistening between tall rocks.

Your walk is pure dance, a quickstep ballet on

                                                  wet pavements.

Your words are as fragile as ocean clouds,

The pulse of calm breath upon my cheek

As night slowly passes.

You are music to me

At one with the music of the spheres

And the flocks of birds in the evening light

Weaving arial patterns that rise and fall.

Trevor John Karsavin Potter, November 5th. 2026.

 

 

 

Fragments of a Magic Garden.

 

From my Note Book.

 

Scraps.

 

Snake hypnotised by the moon at the pink bridge.

 

String Theory.