THE VERGE FROM THE PARK
Life has brought me here, broken loose
from several destinies, to rest a moment
in this grove, garden green, before
I move on across a transient geography
the cost of poetry, deep encounters
hurt, wandering heart to write.
My senile muse still draws a glow in pits
bright sparks, plaintive concave cadence
even though the years flash, pile and double
merge, until all is present, at the verge.
Jan G. Otterstrom F. 7/04/2013