This face, my only face which My eyes can see in a mirror In a puddle or in the windshield Of a passing car.

A brown face, now lined around The eyes, topped by a crown Of receding hair, surveying a welter of other lashes.

An angelic face, when it Was held between two hands And pulled towards lips Or breasts to be held still.

And now a lonely face, The bum, the transvestite, the dope Addict’s face, which my eyes avoid Looking at, hands clutching the purse.

While the heart is already broken. This hollow face that can conceal A lot, grimaces, private jokes, passions But as yet failing when it comes to tears.