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Elsewhere
Do you wonder what people are doing Elsewhere?
If you do, then so do I. I'm here, which is
Elsewhere to you, who are Elsewhere, too, to me.
I know what people are doing here. Sometimes
it makes me cry. I hold out hope, therefore,
for Elsewhere. I don't know why. I imagine
other, better, things; breathe easily; sigh.
Elsewhere;s where we need to meet, I think,
to ask us why we cannot ever get along
right here, where good will seems to die.
Maybe Elsewhere is the place in which our
better selves might resettle to repair
the damage done by tawdry instincts
by and by. I think of Elsewhere, I see,
as a place amenable to possibility.
Copyright 2009 Hans Ostrom
