Face

I see so much in a still face —
sometimes lost, sometimes struggling for a way;
they hold a secret sadness, every face,
and seem, especially, to be looking for a way to cry.

I feel it when I see a downcast face:
it is losing its joy with every hurt,
painting over a memory of every phase,
hiding itself behind every fake.

I speak to every downcast face —
not with words, but with a glance.
I hesitate to face that estate,
because I lack the ease to move at that free pace.

But I am in love with one face —
unknown to me, yet a dream, I say;
struggling to find it, in any case,
and leaving it a choice to make my fate.