We were sick of home, 
Home sick. 
That mask around our ear 
Hung itself into the year. 
Once we stepped into our home, 
We found ourselves gasping, tear- 
ing it off like a bandage, 
Like something that gauzed 
The great gape of our mouth. 
Even faceless, a smile can still 
Scale up our cheeks, 
Bone by bone, 
Our eyes crinkling 
Delicately as rice paper 
At some equally fragile beauty- 
The warbling blues of a dog, 
A squirrel venturing close, 
The lilt of a beloved's joke. 
Our mask is no veil, but a view. 
What are we, if not what we see in another.