1
An unapologetic
Irish sky decays:
sunset, and Donegal's
ridge lies out on the water

crimson-rimmed, small clouds
like fluffs of ink above
on orange fading to blue.
I watch the embers burn

out. Now only far
Greencastle's twinkle, where
boats nose from the land's shadow
to harvest a salt darkness.

2
I load the Bendix-round
and round all goes in the wash-
and walk down Prospect Road
to raise my glass in the Anchor:

the old familiar faces,
...