You hang a pearl from one ear and a bone from the other.

I love your face, the cock of your mouth when you speak,

the places I would paint with green and blue butterfly wings.

Also, I love your masks, everything, all of it, all of them.

The mask had its reasons too. I want to know them,

I want to know you, like the moon knows the earth –

wrapping my silver light streams of love around you

tirelessly, to understand you, to know your cycles,

your ice ages, your blooming, your melting, your cracks.

Like a Salvador Dali Eden of your creation,

you dressed and dancing, you submerged with breath held,

you sleeping in tree tops and allowing your animal.

All the life you can imagine, unbounded multi-coloured

and theatrical – until the masks in their own divine time,

evaporate, and rise unseen like humidity, like clouds

and float like thoughts in meditation, away.

The true kind, not the sitting-on-the-edge-of-the-self-kind,

but the dive deeply and open your eyes underwater

regardless of the fear or the pain kind.

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