Hollow Heart of Time.(Revised).

Swallows in November? Some stay a full month more

But have to glide late autumn winds to Africa

Before the winter solstice lights the inner chambers

Of Neolithic tombs. This is the hollow heart of

                                                               measured time,

The dark womb of the year - coiled and fallow -

Next years seed potatoes secured in sacks and boxes -

Scavenger foxes criss - crossing railway tracks.

I sit and type this poem, half aware of evening birdsong,

Shrill bells from apple trees across the road.    Discrete

Suburban gardens growing wild for several decades.

Developers planning houses where wrens and sparrows

                                                                                   nest.

One whole year in isolation has taught me how to listen,

Learn the sounds of changing seasons, note anomalies I 

                                                                               missed 

When I biked to work all weathers, down streets of glass

                                                                             and steel.

Trevor John Karsavin Potter.

November 23rd. 2020. - December 1st. - 2nd. - 7th.2020.

January 29th. 2021.

Poem number Eight in my sequence of November poems. This poem pairs with number Seven.