Jan G. Otterstrom F.

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As he approached the river, not alone
the ferryman, on his barge, waited
in half light, thick sticks grew
along the charred shore, border
to another world, his long journey
had brought him to this crossing
counter flow, never quite the same
a blossom borne upon the current
consciousness of transience to carry
mere fragments, poems conserved
by chance, rag vestments of she who
accompanied, difficult beauty here to rest.

Jan G. Otterstrom F. 5/22/2013