Masks

by Mark Belair

Aging faces
not only look a mask
but—especially when tired—
feel it, the sorrow lines
cutting in, the disappointment lines
pulling down, the regret lines
brawling in the brow
until
some miniature joy
provides nature’s own
facelift
and the mask becomes
mobile again, expressing—
it not only looks but feels—
an inner incandescence
earned along with the engraved
grief, a radiance that
remodels the mask
into a youthfulness
that can blossom only
over a lifetime, a youthfulness
of which the young
can only dream.