Dark January Morning. (Newly Completed Poem).

Filigree skeins of music drift through air
Floating gently from the hi-fi speakers
Of my kitchen radio.
I sit in the narrow corner of my loneliness
Waiting for you to call.

On the days you do not speak to me,
On the days when we stay out of touch,
There is an arid space deep in my mind,
An empty room without a lamp or table;
No rugs, no chairs, no unlatched window,
No open doors.
On the days you do not pick up the receiver
My sense of loss is absolute.

But the moment that you speak to me,
(By email, or by text, if not the phone),
I find the empty room has filled with light,
The walls transformed into an open terrace
That looks upon a garden framed with sycamores,
A hedge of briar roses.
Although you are a hundred miles from here
I sense your warm breath soft upon my shoulders.

The Mother Goose Suite fades from off the airways
As though dissolving into distant landscapes
Where legends are more real than you or I.-
Suddenly in the hallway rings the phone!
But no - it was the sharp metallic flutes.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter. 
8th. - 10th. - 14th. - 22nd. - 24th. - 29th. January 2020.
29th. June 2020.