I turn these myriad faces
toward the world:
one for you,
one for them,
one for the system,
one for the everyman,
one is hope,
one is despair,
one is supplication,
one in regret.

But then I turn a face
toward me and what is it
I see ?
What lines form the furrows
of my brow?

I see no more than shadows
cast by the moon and the
dark edges of my eyes
looking like a stranger
asking for help.

 

23/4/2025