I hear old men’s voices under
the almond tree, the running sea
exhausted on the seething shore
sand and broken shells grating
fragments, husks of labor tossed
letters drawn, on this diary’s page
rinds of lines scribbled, peeled
from round days, as eventide colors
rage, blazing orange pink, fiery reds
with dusk’s last purple light setting.
c) Jan G. Otterstrom F.
July 9, 2010
The Playa, Costa Rica