Mask of Khonsu

Matthew Shenoda

Here you are, “on view”
the mask that was placed over your head,

your eternal breath,
misting the tamarisk and acacia.

You look at me, brother,
across the palindrome of time

bending the shackles of centuries
so we can each see the conquest fresh.

It was long before you
and long after me, still.

Our peace lost in times
of warring madness.

I try to block the wicked silhouette,
the doubled deception of reflective glass,

the border making light
of the too bright and blessed sun.

A quiet sight when you appear and hold my eyes in yours,
become ourselves again.

Wandering the banks unharmed,
unarmed with words of defense.

They stormed through you
and brought us down so low.

Where can we stand
where their shadow won’t climb over us?

The false light of these sterile halls
making specious your living face.

These are the irrepressible laws of conquer
affixed to our meeting.

I should have known you
in another way,

to share in that communion
unbroken by mediation.

But it is true,
that they have always known us

by what we believe,
misremember us despite our praise.

Three thousand years, and we remember

there is no end
to what has no beginning.