Jan G. Otterstrom F.

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The field of my view extends
into disorientation of empty
space as the range of words
change from dawns, barely
in their flesh with fog lifting
flowing in of light, now billows
of cloud, tufted, recede from
verdant bluffs where dreams
and memories shift, blank
stares, forgotten looks cross
major moments folded into
an incoherent mass, mixing
kneading, beating, the dead
inhabit us, waiting for pupils
to open to see in the dark
as my parallel lives unlock
drift in separation, wanting
at times to merge them, links
dissolve, a stupor of thought.

c) Jan G. Otterstrom F.
    July 5, 2009
    Palmares, Costa Rica