Acropolis-eyed, she wore a mask of wisdom
brandishing age-vein maps of her years
curving down her checks to her mouth's corners.
Dimples of youth hollowed and sunk,
engraving pits when she spoke,
filled with salt-seas of tears when she cried.
Graying strands of broken hairstyles
hung loose down her forehead,
interweaving through her teeth as she slept,
jostling her awake with thick mouthfuls
kinked around her tongue.
Loxic, the eyes of her mask were carved uneven,
mushed slanted under the weight knowledge,
nestled nearer her temples each new year.
Over her dry sockets thin leather
paper, wrinkled jagged,
quaking in her sleep as she dreams, grinding
rigid against her focusless gaze.
Seeking mirrors' pitty and finding nothing she
tears at her mask, now beckoning burial
under the ancient dirt along with her,
voices of the past scream for her to stop,
wishing she would leave her mask so they might recognize her
xoanon without gouges or blood,
zealed with respect and not monstrosity.
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