Thought ought to be a white horse
on a green mountain: tamed, serviceable
morning mists lifting curtains to light
or product with utility, but it is often
restless, adventuresome, changing things
from what, imagining who or may
become, our medium fed in its
proverbial cave, shadows, space
where absence governs, sacrificed
to silence, dark matter, nutrient as
neutrinos regard, to hold a thought
is to believe, our faith lifts us, our
work through its mental initiation.
c) Jan G. Otterstrom F.
July 1, 2010