Jan G. Otterstrom F.

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I wait on the edge of the portico
Beneath a deep blue swept sky
Warm summer wind buffeting
Thoughts bracing sun drenched
Holding for messages coming in
Un-enhanced on backs of zephyrs
Whispering midst the stiff gusts
Palms leaning, zillions of slivers
Of sound, garden radiant green
With careful colors, white marble
Topology of another enclosure
Inner forum, an outside excluded
In interior sanctity of the inside.
This sacred House of the Lord
Blessing the living as our dead.
I stand against, blasts of years
The message “we are not alone”
True messengers will visit us.
I remember all of my children
Each in turn through their ages
Riding upon my shoulders, reining
My ears, tugging at my hair, high
Above the floor, seeing the world
For the first time anew, hold on
Laugh, gallop, life’s a short ride.
All are grown now, too big to cling
Around my neck. Their precious
Smiles rush, reverberating in wind
Filling the measure of creation
An alienating process but assuring
Though, that I am not alone.

c) Jan G. Otterstrom F. December 1, 2004
Belen, Costa Rica.