Jan G. Otterstrom F.

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These lines are me, my life spread
out on this blank page, black ink
bleeding, opening my heart, foreign
pain like drops of rain, smudge my
reverie, blurring clarity of vision
a storm’s wetness in a tree above
on branch or leaf, gravity stretching
sliding until it goes, falling, staining
my entry, a word distorted, tears
running through this novel destiny
subsequent to God’s imperial code
as poems wake me in the morning
drifting in from somewhere, be true
to them the prophets urge, a diary
will judge our day, so confronted
giving thanks, a singular substance
of faith, each hope to pass the hours
each charitable embrace of night.
c) Jan G. Otterstrom F.
    February 25, 2010
    Costa Rica