Trapped in the diurnal revolutions
of earth, time bound, to the course
of our planet, if we were not riding
here, on this blue sea in the sky
but seeing our small dot of light
from afar, in the galaxy’s center
eons laid before us, our mind lifted
into the heavens: bitterness, war
and carnage, gross vice, petty strife
and quarreling left behind, static
noise of nonsense, glutting air waves
silenced, from the depths of this deep
structure, harmony of musical events
omens of gravity, echoing amen.
Jan G. Otterstrom F. 12/18/2011
Somewhere over the Atlantic.