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ÓINSIGH by John Ennis

                         ÓINSIGH

                                               from the die-hard fans

With the clothes just shook on him, Jón, in some Hvítárnes

 his good eye startled as if by what sunlight there might rise

it looks still early morning, and bleak cold, one for jumpers on

in Iceland or wherever. It is our eyes that look through his, óin

sigh, and back at us again, and we see ourselves in the daybreak mirror

we’ve become with him, each day to wake, face the indefinable terror

of clouds risen.   He’s yet to collect himself in von, or words,

engender something lava hot  in us to heat the innards.

Worlds fall apart in the vast fanlands.  One more time

those careful esker stones we’d raise the battering ram

sees to them. Dreams fall in on people.  He ransacks himself for us

across the global fields of Heima.  Chilling out in Portlaoise,

walkabout at Snaefell, Stradbally, Vosslands east of Perth

he is our god, he walks upon the earth

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