Jan G. Otterstrom F.

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To interrogate the field of hurt
that awakens the heart, flood
of blossoming iris, purple swept
with shade from under trees
trembling green alone, ill at ease
held by sovereign memories mist
immense brightness, in yellow light
that lifts dreams into the sparks
of heaven, ever chaste inheritance
of lonely nights, pen in hand, words
in the gusts of wind, oxygenated air
troubling sleep, writing to friends
reaching out to exit, stalled in thoughts
dare to contemplate performance
condemned, idle, to hold a vision
mold a precious moment, in royal title.

Jan G. Otterstrom F. . 4/28/2012