Over: A Song Poem by Hans Ostrom

Over the bones,

monuments stand.

Over the stones,

dirt, grit, and sand.



Over the stream,

one heron flies.

Over our heads:

banal gray skies.



Now lighting,

now thunder,

no rain.



Umbrellas

will bloom

in the lane.



Over the years

the town's grown sad.

Over the good

runs all the bad.



Over my soul,

crows and owls fly.

Over my days

looms the great Why.



Now silence,

Now whispers,

Now crying,



As always

we're selling,

we're buying.







hans ostrom 2019