TO MAKE A POEM
He mutters it seems, as a leaf quivers
the silent voice of breeze, heavenly tide
carries imperceptible words, freed
from the sheath, to make a poem
omen of eternity, fashioned in the flow
apparent unstable oscillation
that annihilates the poet’s personality
to fuse it mysteriously, in mist of genesis.
Jan G. Otterstrom F. 11/18/2012
Somewhere over the Atlantic.