Jan G. Otterstrom F.

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The ever revolving hope of our reunion
spins out the pain of separation
leaving me to listen, to singular drops of rain
round spaces falling, filled wet with exclusion
heavy weeping, in clouds closing another day
sealing the blue above, as I turn another page
scribbled with black ink, the heart’s soliloquy
remembrances, ground sustaining the possible
in words and half formed letters, of what I have to say
in time elapsed of each rotation, to heal the sore
dedication to our desire, of being united once more.

Jan G. Otterstrom F. 4/6/2012