Jan G. Otterstrom F.

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Our soul rolls within the groove
cut by life, curves up to edges
slides, slips, runs rough, then smooth
pauses in evening hush
bedded breeze, lulled by songs
of coming night, in sounds of birds
nested chirp before the dark
close of sky, we turn down deep
to burrow along in furrows, hurry
through timeís circular succession
mindís magic lantern of projections.

Jan G. Otterstrom F. 4/19/2013