The Venus Mask

Into the mourning, she rises
from morning to night
from the East to the West,
endogenous aglow with refracted light.
She slips beyond the imaginary line
to reappear bright and cheery,
whether it is felt or shown or worn,
whether or not she has a choice.
Chained to her task
spinning and spun in
reverse, West to East her
star will rise and fall,
skirts a-swirl and swell 
burnt orange in fiery hues.
An onyx sea of midnight 
envelopes her blurred edges,
soothes her furrowed brow,
and a sad smile that doesn't quite
reach her eyes, goes unanswered.

2023