Grief Untitled #2

My dirty hands
Push into grey clay
Dry and wet at once
Giving and yielding
I find its shape for a nose
Pushing both sides toward a bridge
Thumbs pull down from
Both sides find resting
Places for eyes
My hands slip down
Tears stain unformed
Cheeks finding bones
Under eyes for sockets
To catch salty pools
Teasing out windows
Of the soul
Defining nose and cheeks
There the corner of the lip
There the top
Thin not full
Pulled taut silent crying out
Trying again hoping
To find calm like Roman god’s
Visage that stare out timelessly
The cheeks become smooth
For tears would smear
And run
The mouth reshapes
Soft full bottom lip
Barely trembles a gentle
Touch quiets this disharmony
Of form the storm
That lies underneath
The chin springs to life
Confident with no room
For wanton
Quivering not spurred by cold
No salty tears shall
This chin disgrace
My fingers find the neck
To wring it to life
Nose, eyes, mouth, chin
A perfect patrician mask


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