The swallows circle,

catch my eye

swoop and skim;

Midland swallows

high over Derbyshire Dales,

low over the Derwent, Trent, Soar,


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