For Robert Kelly, Are a Few of These Poems Possibly

On the ghost of a pretense
I’ll proceed.
I speak now in accents,
as ever, but this in the voice
of one I’ve known personally.

Proud son of Eire,
at least in his surname
he seems to have always been old
and craggily handsome
gazing out like a hypnotist
below the cliffs of his eyebrows.

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