I hear the rustle of my arguments
youth, imagining a journey to Clochis
sailing the Cyclades, solving riddles
or passing through Hades, as Orpheus
yet little knowing dear Eurydice
wanting to look back, wavering
perplexed to flee Gomorrah, its clasp
moist as concourse to congregate
Codex of Cattulus in whirring forests
silver green, with hangings in the groves
to wend the winter days deep snow
naïve to hazards, terror of long nights
but seeking ever Zion on a hill.
c) Jan G. Otterstrom F.
July 12, 2010
Palmares, Alajuela, Costa Rica