MIGRATION
The swallows circle,
catch my eye
swoop and skim;
Midland swallows
high over Derbyshire Dales,
low over the Derwent, Trent, Soar,
southwards,
a migration.
They catch the eye,
telegraph their thoughts on wires,
follow grids, curves,
southwards, ever southwards
to places I shall never see.
But they catch my eye,
imprint an image,
and through them
I know seas, deserts,
feel an unseen heat
Jeremy Duffield