Masks offer themselves to us:
maybes, possibilities, uncertainties and almosts.
Beneath we feel them,
is almost satisfying;
however, the gracefulness lends to turbulent underneaths.
Where does it fall?
Mas o minos yes?
or Mas o minos no?
Does it hope to renew the center,
embracing itself from afar?
Maybes and Possibilities frighten me.
Too vast a project.
Too big a bite for the heart’s mouth.
& the sauce?
In its simple and tragic depth,
it makes me ashamed I even asked.
No matter how pious I felt the objective was.