Masks

Take off the soft-breathing mask of forgiveness.
You are really quite angry.
Take off the fierce mask of outrage.
You are really quite gentle.
Be the one who wears them both,
the one who has no face.
All masks are hollow
yet sparkling with frowns and smiles.
No one inside, just silence,
delight of enso, ever-expanding zero
whose circumference is wonder.
After you've taken your faces off,
put them on again.
Be anyone.
Be thousands of transparent veils
undulating in waves of moonlight.
Be the gravity-free hollow who wears them.
Be musky anthers unfolding in caverns of juice.
This is your true body, woven for the dance.
Woven of the mandible snap of animal laughter,
woven of the yeast of living tears.
This is your body of dark bread,
woven of lightning bolts.
Be night filled with stars,
miracles in a thimbleful of loam.
Be a mothering blackness of butter and sweat.