Scarry Night

My eyes,
they hold my experiences.
My lips,
they hold my words.
My ears,
they hold the sounds that have helped,
and the ones that have harmed.
My fingertips,
they contain the slight callouses 

You stare at me,
your big green eyes
haunting me,
as your life 
hangs in a small
glass
shell,
a glass barrier.
Your gaze never lifts,
your statuistic pose never flinches,
your confidence never withers,

A sculptor
stands at a 
work table,
staring at 
his masterpiece.
A face 
of an unknown
stranger,
sits on an armature,
staring back at him.
And, 
as he takes his last look,
turns away,

A mask,
like a heavy coat
of snow,
like a sweater
on an autumn
Sunday morning,
can hide many things.
It hides one's
thoughts,
it hides one's
opinions,
it hides one's
self.
At some point,

The earth spins,
it orbits around the sun,
but there is much 
that goes on
atop this planet,
much that we 
cannot see
from afar. 
What is right in front of us,
and what might not be so clear?

With every breath we take,
with every inch we travel,
our planet becomes
sicker. 
If our planet is so hurt,
how is everything still here,
how are we still here?
We are still here,
because of the trees.
These trees,