Here's a companion poem to this.
This one is called "The Mask."
"What have you saved?
What have you given up so there can be
dust in the clarity of things?
When the soundless dancer is the first thing
you see in the morning, something has changed.
You are no longer frightened by unexplainable grief.
There is an endless moon in the sky,
but you gave it a different name.
What did you save?
What passes for a voice in the magnified moment of crying
the way the cricket sings?
The iron mask in your wall is missed
by the mummy shrouded in earth.
When you helped others dig it up,
the air was cold for an instant, but it was
something you could believe.
How sharp should the color of a knife be?
When you handle it, the story you carve in the tree
has already been told.
Your late arrival expected after bits of the night
came apart in your hands.
What have you kept?
How have you lived?"