We made masks of each other. <br />Each lay still under the tender fingers <br />of the other, felt the plaster grip <br />the hairline, tighten on the greased skin, <br />felt the gentle hands mould and caress <br />until with a grimace we released the cast <br />and each held our own face in our hands. <br /> <br />They lie drying side by side <br />on the June grass; <br />we recognise each other <br />but not ourselves <br />in these grave images. <br /> <br />One day one of us will view the other <br />as still as this, as quiet, as white, <br />will cry tears of unbelieving pain, <br />demand the right to hold again <br />their living lover's face, ask <br />why that vibrant self has gone, <br />and all that's left's a pale and static mask.<br /><br />Janice Windle<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/journey-inwards-forecast/
