Pas de Deux. (Revised).

Gentle - soft - voice.

Swans on the wing under the moon.

I put down the receiver,
turn off the light,
set the alarm for 7am.

Waiting for you is like watching the snow
fall - then melt - then fall again;
a curtain of mysteries,
negative dreaming.

I wonder if you are already sleeping
in your Vardo packed with cushions and pillows,
duvet bunched awkwardly over white shoulders,
boots stuffed under the bed.

Echoes of wing beats over the rooftops.

A tear shaped moon caught in skeletal trees.

When I bussed out to the Borough Market this morning,
I didn`t even notice which coat I was wearing.
I was thinking of you,
nothing else seemed to matter.
Thinking of you hunting rabbits for supper.

I closed my eyes to the local street scene.
Mothers outflanked by fractious children,
fathers humping home parcels and pies.
I walked alone through the crowds and the taxis,
a blind man lost in the midst of the party.

"I will be waiting tomorrow - the path by the lake".

I remember your voice on the telephone,
A year ago, in a far milder winter.
Pale honey daylight and no snow falling.

"I will be waiting tomorrow - the spell can be broken".

I turn over in bed, hugging pillows and shadows,
embracing the silence in the depths of the room.
Christmas next week and I am still alone.
No fire in the grate. No logs by the chimney.

Afraid to discard the thin shell of reason
I turn to the wall the sketch of your face,
then try to imagine it has never been there.-
I have already unplugged the bedside receiver,
too many lies are whispered at night.

Buckled like wings weighed down by dying
outside my window the bare branches droop.

Under the spell of the mist veiled moon
the mute swans gather, heads tucked out of sight.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
December 9th. - 14th. - 17th. 2016.
January 7th. 2017.
February 20th. 2017