Strange Currents

Fighting sleep.
Don't know why.

I keep thinking about the image of strange currents; Swirling about in my head.
A constant reflux of reminders, yet, a vision.

Five years, an azure mountain, the dead leaves, and the fires that rage on,
year after year.
There are moments when my heart opens,
Offering my vulnerability.
There is none there to receive,
and so the gates slowly counter swing
and interlock.
I am assured that there will never be resolution, yet I hope.
I still hope for no purpose.
A strange current,
it marks the path where emotion forces passage.
It swirls in a violent eddy, exposing it's silver waters
like the gleaming fangs of a wild dog.

Somehow, I am comforted rather than frightened,
I am watchful.
At the other end of the torrent, I know that the moulded earth
slowly withers away under that river's endless current.