The shrunken stone face
lies mute on the altar of mahogany.
It stares out of hard eyes
at my vulnerable hypnoticism.
God knows what that granite expression,
that heavy grim mouth,
those unblinking eyes of coldness
hides of what my face betrays.
And, as to that, God knows --
(how could a face of stone know!) --
what it searches, or if it even sees
my sudden chill of flesh.
God also knows what guilt
lies in me for the probe of eyes.
Legend, Vol. 3 No. 1, Winter 1974, p. 37
