I find this to be comforting and encouraging...like saying, "hey status-quo 'aint so bad". Maybe we are truly wise only if we are content; and content not only with what we can understand, but content with what we do not understand. Many wonderful colors and ideas that delight. Thanks.

I've heard of perfect pitch but not perfect sight, but this poems pretty close. Nice write Glenn.

This is wonderful, Glenn. I don't know about you, but we're in good company because the very Son of God died but raised again. Like our hopes after they've been dashed but lifted aloft by time shared with friends that sincerely love you enough to weather the showers in your valleys and then kick your butt at cards unapologetically."Calligraphy inked from hearts" I particularly adore though I love that whole stanza... truly some of the best times of my life were spent playing "spades" with my blind aunt. She died several years ago, but I know our happy times together are never to be truly over and I just know when I get where she is, she'll be the best prankster tour guide I could ask for. Thanks for reminding me of all those card games and uncle Johnny's hideous coffee that we all swilled like the finest wines and begged him to brew another pot...

Friendship is a wonderful thing as is this poem Glenn....CharMin

a simple faith indeed. i might need to take a page out of your book.

Ah, Glen, I do so admire that last stanza. Pitch perfect indeed!

This is a great one, so many evocative lines that flow smoothly, like river water over worn stones. I love that line "calligraphy inked from hearts". What an image! And the last two lines "it’s ok just to be" or " it’s ok just to be me." It works well either way. The pause inserted by putting me on the next line is a really nice touch. The imagery reminded me of all those canyons we saw in Utah, the dark parts with always something hidden. Procative. "the shadowy delusion of perfection." How true, how true.

Oh, how We would all be better off unlearning the premise that we must be *perfect* to be alive, to matter, to have worth. I love your [poem, Glenn. Let's keep this close, because the realization fades in and out in this harsh world.

The flow you deliver this with beckons me in and carries me into its simple truth. How jake!

if the world is missing our perfection, owing to our busying ourselves at home playing poem poker, I would tell that world that it could make it up by reading this poem, for the dealer muses have dealt Glenn the word perfect hand on which to stand pat and claim the pot.

Fond reminder that although perfection does indeed have its moments here on Earth, it is largely an illusion, and we must settle for the comfort of ourselves, as imperfect we may be. Or as I like to say, "imperfection has a perfection all its own."

Your subtle use of metaphor is only exceeded by your exquisite syntax and trope, Glenn. This poem has great formation filled with meaning yet simply falls into place. You could call it ‘stupidity of perfection’. I call it genius.

I enjoy your journey here, as you clear the way for me to relax and just be. Thank you.