As a geologist I studied rubble
washed down from mountain outcrops
to piece back the beginning
to discover where the gold lay hidden
seeing only the broken whole
as bits reacting to reagents
fragments of a map, a geology
of passion, fusion in process
transmutation into unity, art
in unraveling. Today I write life
leaves its wreckage in stream beds
slash piles, slag dumps, slurry
and synopsis of sand to refine out
the essence in the fire’s furnace
our destiny in the purity of the end.
The trembling earth raises sounds
of prayers from fissures and sliding
land, overhearing seismic groans
establishing fatal shelters, our time
here is fleeting, our path concealed
a road that disappears under rubble.
c)Jan G. Otterstrom F.
January 10, 2009