Crescent Moon in March. (Original Version. The Completed Poem published 21st. March 2021)

Weeping into the hollow shell of my violin
I remember the last time we were together
And try to fill my lonely hours with music.

The heartbreaking cadences of Beethoven`s
Final string quartet
Drift from the old time record player
In the adjoining room.
I place my violin back inside its case,
My music cannot speak truth as plainly as Beethoven`s.

Tonight we are in the company of angels.
They fly between us on quiet wings,
Conveying messages that only we can hear.
The angels understand the anguish of separated lovers,
They protect us from alcohol and opioids
As we wait out the sickly hollowed hours.

Until I met you I did not believe in angels.
I thought they were the by-products of reveries
Lived for real by mystics
When they fasted in remote and hostile wastelands
Seeking to speak with God.
I thought these saints were driven mad by loneliness,
By mouldy bread or brackish drinking water.
But now I must self isolate, at least until the summer,
The hidden presence of our guardian angels
Seems as real as music.

Tonight the moon is an indistinct white crescent,
A desert moon above the mists of England;
Febrile mists dissolving truth and clarity.

The ambivalent final chords of the string quartet,
Crafted out of solitude and sickness,
Echo through the house - and then the silence.

I turn off the lights. I now can better see
The slow drift of the shadow patterned moon
Above the London rooftops.
I hope you can watch the moon from your hospital bed,
But I expect the blinds are pulled down before dusk.

I retrieve my violin from its wooden case.-
For the first time since the fall that nearly killed you
I can play the tune I wrote the day we met.-
In the depths of my mind I can hear you call my name.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
March 3rd. - 18th. - 21st. - 24th. - 26th. - April 6th. - 7th. - May 10th. - 12th. 2020.
For Ivy in hospital Leicester.