The thing about introspection
is that you will never be transparent
in your whole words, phrases,
questions— there is a mask,
he says, I say, and idly
we stand in the air of this visage.
Eyes never see themselves,
nor do they see each other;
elbows and tongues reach until
everything else is hurting.
To rid and be rid, hearts
write their cruel phrases in tears.
I’ve hurt (poss.) and you hurt (act.);
I’ve hurt (act.) and you HURT (poss.);
thank fuck we’re the same, it says,
and there is a mask.

Through the window burns solar systems,
through the window passes streets of green,
Each finger and hair reaching until
it’s not far enough, each eye leaping 
from their sockets to start singing;
and lying there,
the mouth and it’s words are shocked 
breathless.

He’s saying: this is transparency.
He’s saying; I have left.
He’s saying, goodbye.