Of the Woods

We know it’s a mask, but we hide
It from you. We know of the mask,

Since we made it, since we wear it,
But we will never admit it

Is a mask to you. Ritual,
Like all jokes, play-acting, and pranks,

Requires commitment to succeed.
We’re committed. We’re committed

To being your gods and ghosts, yours,
As if we weren’t ourselves at all.

You don’t see us. You see through us.
You don’t hear us. You hear through us.

You probe us softly through the holes
That let us breathe your air and watch

You as you approach our figures
To figure out if there’s a real

World behind the masks we’ve built you.
There is, but that world’s only us,

And if you’re unsure what you’ve probed,
That’s as we’re good at holding still

Behind a mask, even provoked,
Behind our windows to your souls.