Achingly stupid the illusions
I put up with
              my own for the most part
lately I’ve developed
              an extra sensitive vision
notice every wart blotch
mottle broken blood vessel mole
can it be that at this late date
my world is suddenly more distinct

write mainly for that reason
to record my views my vistas
my visions
              gauge
how easily I can be fooled

“humanity will achieve greatness
but madness will continue
              to rule in high places”

how early light illuminates
the leaves transparent new
when after a night of rain garden
under clear skies glistens
I with my coffee sit on the back
step sip contemplate the sparkle

my Irish soul sings in any language

reciprocal gestures are mine to give
both with pleasure and apprehension

the way faceless fear eats at me
there should barely be but a crumb
ever-present concern the micro and
the macro of it by sheer force of will
this poem held together
               as I am as well
                               generous to a fault
what’s that word that keeps me from myself