Jan G. Otterstrom F.

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My heart sounds her grave
Sorrowing in the good sea
Stroke force lines going out
Yellow ripe if I would
Circling back into self
Divided by crooked roving
Broad brush rushing chatter
Blather, all my tangents
Splattered guts, fierce
Vigorous prayerful reticence.
My brother leading the way
Tired against the relentless
Waves, gray steel crashing
Gasping water heaving
Saved, the horizontal plane
Eternal space, sun blues
Turquoise warm rescue
The sinking from the fathoms
Freed from the awful noise.

c) Jan G. Otterstrom F.
    November 1, 2008
    Palmares, Costa Rica