rictus

The smile on the stage, on the street, at the office
is not the same as the smile in the quiet room,
at the mirror, at the furry creature beside you.
The one is armour, a mask built according to a formula;
the other has no recipe, but issues naturally from
joy. It is the flower in the forest, the vacation that
you can’t take; it takes you. No airline can get you there;
but every photographer wants the next photo to depict it,
every artist wants to paint it, every composer hears it in
dreams, every dancer sees it in the next leap. The pity is
all the world’s a stage, but real life is behind the mask.