We were sick of home,
Home sick.
That mask around our ear
Hung itself into the year.
Once we stepped into our home,
We found ourselves gasping, tear-
ing it off like a bandage,
Like something that gauzed
The great gape of our mouth.
Even faceless, a smile can still
Scale up our cheeks,
Bone by bone,
Our eyes crinkling
Delicately as rice paper
At some equally fragile beauty—
The warbling blues of a dog,
A squirrel venturing close,
The lilt of a beloved’s joke.
Our mask is no veil, but a view.
What are we, if not what we see in another.