"Legal Fiction," William Empson

"Music I Heard With You," by Conrad Aiken

"Like the Touch of Rain," by Edward Thomas

"Walls," by Langston Hughes

"The Lockless Door," by Robert Frost

"When I Look Into a Glass," by William Henry Davies

"At the Mid Hour of Night," by Thomas Moore

"Fin," by Hans Ostrom

I grew a fin.
It helps me swim.

The wife of many years
divorced me. She
thought the issue of a fin
was insurmountable.

I had to learn
to sleep on
my side or belly.
Also, clothes:
you can imagine.

Otherwise,
I don't care.
Everybody's
got something.
I have a fin.


hans ostrom 2014

"The Alchemist," by Louis Bogan

"Dig," by Hans Ostrom

Look down, if you like,
on this archaeological dig:

where once someone
stood and looked
at ruins left by previous
inhabitants.

Behind us and slightly
above will stand
someone looking down
at this old place,

decrepit in future.
Odd, this desire

to pass through
a crowded, vibrant
city of noise and
pulse, the great fracas,

so as to stand still
and gaze upon
sad stones on which
throngs lived long ago.

Blame it on Time, which makes
us chronological voyeurs.



hans ostrom 2014

"Radar Songs," by Hans Ostrom

Airline attendants walk among us,
angels of the Aisle. They draw
lines on air and attend to them.
They feed us nectar and encrypt

aluminum dreams. We're the departed,
scheduled to arrive at a gate
leading anywhere. Airline attendants
speak hypothetically of a

"water landing," which is more
of a problem than a seat-cushion
can solve. Fasten your seat-belts,
Believers, and fly fascinated!

Resort to destinations
and leave your baggage unclaimed. Let
it ride like an old symbol
around the dream-slow carousel,

which implies that all human activity
proves to be absurd eventually
if not sooner. That is why airline
attendants will dance

around the Control Tower
tonight (whisper: tonight!),
raising a chorus
of radar songs.

hans ostrom 2014

"Love to Faults is Always Blind," by William Blake

"Julia," by Robert Herrick