Irish Eyes
(for Saoirse)
I stare into your summer Atlantics,
Lost among your Horse Latitudes,
I swim to your cerulean littoral.
Your name means “freedom,” but
Your mordant laugh & perilous wit
Betray your Brigitine shroud.
Occitanian lute players rehearse
That ditty familiar to us both, and
As we enter, the sky charms with blossoms.
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