The mask that kept the face of pain behind it had no eyes.
It’s hard to see through pain, and hard for those 
With eyes to see the pain. Unfocused and ivory, with a rose
And tear upon the cheek, it’s blameless, like a Mardi Gras prize.

The mask worn over something else, the things
We didn’t talk about, pursed lips but had no voice
As if it all was fate, or all by choice;
It stiffens our features with the news death brings.

The mask that bent intelligence to doubt —
That mask — that took me far away from you:
I cannot claim it made my eyes more blue
Or self more safe. We wear them without

Knowing, diminish as they’re growing, only endings clearer
As we clatter to the floor, surprised we were the mask and not the wearer.