Hirundo Rustica Poem by Richard Whiting

And so
on the third day of April
they angle in
low over Landguard Point
streamer-winged
iridescent reflectors
of an awakening sun
shadowing earth again

Ink-dot eyes
feed thumb-nail brain
whose manual
we are yet to decode-
offering stars
the magnetic field
ley-line mysteries
direction from deities
a host of stabs
at truth
that wily insect

as I watch you
aeronautic acrobats
skimming puddle and cloud
to build your world
of six months’ making
wanting nothing of your secret
just to be vouchsafed
the sight of you

more than frost
lifting from the bursting twig
your double note and untidy warble
the way you arrow through the split
in the barn wall masonry
moustachioed with straw
tells me the old regime
dismantles

and the moment I realise
that the cobalt comet
in the corner of my eye is you
Summer is made