To me, it makes a summer; continent-
compassing
steely blue wings,
pure breast, gorget
deep red as though still cooling from some southern forge.
Passing then fast repassing, it connects the dots
of unseen gnats,
so near to me
it makes me see;
to it, I’m utterly irrelevant.
Mark Totterdell’s poems have appeared widely in magazines and have occasionally won competitions. His collections are ‘This Patter of Traces’ (Oversteps Books, 2014) and ‘Mapping’ (Indigo Dreams Publishing, 2018).
Foxglove Journal 