CLOUDS

I used to lie on my back as a boy
In our yard, watching the clouds
Through the eucalyptus, now here
In front of the Church, clouds drift
Above the cross as 9:30 bell tolls
Its half hour, bong. People in habit
Cross themselves, birth to death
The space in between, as I knell
In this arboretum before symbols
Massive cement edifice mimicking
In its mean, Roman or Aegean themes.
The mornings are always spectacular
Heavy mist capping the green caldera
Rim, we live on ancient alluvial, steam
Vents have become our water cisterns 
For the giant cumulus building from
Sultry green lowland Caribbean air
Perspiring off the San Carlos plains
Wind pushing the rising clouds over
The forested Central range, until
Rain on higher altitude farms or towns.
Coffee or ornamental plants decorate
Our hills, banana citrus patio alcoves.
Here I am only 3000 feet above the sea
To the north, mile high volcanoes preside
Before condensing tropical depressions
Waters of baptism nurturing renewal
Lightning energizing my humble covenant.

c) Jan G. Otterstrom F.
    November 11, 2006
    Palmares, Costa Rica