EVENT HORIZON
I saw Eternity the other night
Like a great ring of pure and endless light…
HENRY VAUGHAN
A dark treat, this sudden encounter with death.
Entering the unlit room and expecting
the shadow-flicker in his neck,
the guttering fuse, she saw instead
that he lay quite still and that
a fine silver dust hung in the air.
Silence boomed in her blood. She forgot
to breathe. She stared into the hole in time
through which he’d slipped . She saw dark wings
that beat too fast for angels’, saw
the place where bones come from
and where bones go. All this in a heartbeat –
wiser than scripture, swifter than light:
a destination on the other side of grief.
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About Dick Jones
I'm a post-retirement Drama teacher, currently working part-time. I have a grown-up son and daughter, three grandchildren and three young children from my second marriage. I write - principally poetry but prose too, both fitfully published. My poetry collection Ancient Lights is published by Phoenicia Publishing (www.phoeniciapublishing.com) and my translation of Blaise Cendrars' 'Trans-Siberian Prosody and Little Jeanne from France' (illustrated by my friend, the artist, writer and long-time blogger Natalie d'Arbeloff) is published by Old Stile Press (www.oldstilepress.com).
I play bass guitar & bouzouki in the song-based acoustic/electric trio Moorby Jones, playing entirely original material.
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I have a dormant blog with posts going back to 2004 at Dick Jones' Patteran Pages - http://patteran.typepad.com - and I'm a radio ham. My callsign is G0EUV
sisyphus 
The way intense emotion plays a part in shaping the way we perceive our surroundings is interesting. In the moment it is even harder than usual to distinguish what is actually there from what is in one’s head.
Thanks for the response, Dom. One of the party faithful!
It’s a wonderful poem, Dick, shimmering with light and a private kind of silence.
Sorry I haven’t been visiting your blog more often. Those good old days when we were all connected in a blog-chain. Now it’s all facebooking and it’s not the same but there’s no going back, is there?
Thank you, Natalie. One of those poems that came from nowhere. As for those early days, there we all were like stately ocean liners moving around in a huge sea, telegraphing each other across the distances. Now we’re all beached & watching the crazy speedboats going nowhere!
Yep. But maybe nowhere is not where we’re going. Who can tell?
Well, maybe nowhere is fine by us!