The Spot

West Dixon Creek
c.sdmrogers 2015

Dead
Blind
A zone without range
Empty
Void

We cross it each morning
Cursing and laughing
We wait
Calmly
Patiently
For life to 
Beat
    again

And it does
           Always
it does

But 
   there are 
            times
Other times

The underworld 
              Arises 
without warning

Signals disappear
Signs are misconstrued
Codes long broken become
Impenetrable

And we are 
          Lost

Until

From the left
A light
A faint
       Blue
Pulse

A dichrotic throb
As though 
         doubling
Might make the difference

And so it does
So 
  something
does

And the impasse
Dissolves
     Fades
         Passes
into memory

Becoming nothing 
                more 
than the shimmering penumbra
of a once
         intractable
Pain


©sdrogers 20 june 2015