A chorus of poems that I have not written
roam around me, forming the question
that I have become for myself, in song
leaving life in suspense of death, at least
to remember those most pleasant memories:
nights in jasmine, conversations in almond shade
hugs from my giggling children, the Aegean
echoing, on Pacific shores or floating on Lac Léman
bread and cheese, discussing Henri Bergson
Le evolution creatrice, now mist enveloping
green tufted mountains, while colorful birds
sing, flashing as ornaments between branches
as ashes are spread, sparkling, upon the sea.
c) Jan G. Otterstrom F.
March 21 , 2011
Over Costa Rica