My mind yields the day’s parable
revealing mystery as morning mist
lifts from green mountains.
Coming out of dark woods, seeing
light’s simple invariant eloquence
freeing me from tradition and pomp
of nonsense, praying as I walk
from darkness into static voltage
of conflictive voices, bitter words
echo around me but I am insulated
to their darts, disorienting distraction
that the world throws up to detour us
into unproductive ways. I came to
where I was, the clouds were washed
hanging in the sun. I was standing again
in my place, tilting towards death
wrinkled yet letting my net down deeper
into the ocean of the mind.
c) Jan G. Otterstrom F.
January 1, 2009