In Concert.

Late summer heat.
I rest in your arms
listening to the silence fall
like veils of mist across the moon,
the leaves not yet crimson.

It is 48 years since we sang Hey Jude
in the swaying crowd in the TV studio,
The Band euphoric,
the spotlights searing,

but to me you are still the pale faced girl
with the ash blonde hair and the quirky smile,
scorned by the press,
loved by the cameras.

After the Show,
the lights turned out,
the audience heave-hoed,
we sang and we danced all the way home,
the sleeping streets our rain dashed stage,
the cloud haired man in the distant moon
winking.

With the crowds departed we felt so lonely,
cold strangers in the midnight town,
out of place and      out of time,
our shadows walking before us.

Late summer heat.
I rest in your arms
and watch you fall asleep beside me,
your grey hair trailing across my shoulder,
your eyelids flickering when you dream.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
September 7th. - 8th. 2016.