Jan G. Otterstrom F.

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Confounded, having forgotten the code
whispered in the ceaseless surging
on this seething sandy border
no longer a game, life’s shifting end
has brought you striving
to this illusive door, you remember only
the echo, non-distinct, sirens singing
in the night, black jungle velvet void
on a stage of shadows, theater
at the back of memory, confused
by old age days alone, before
this entry way, edge of sea and shore.

Jan G. Otterstrom F. 1/21/2013