was worked exquisitely until worked out
a nagging, no-good splinter, studied bit
from the toe-ball mound of some leviathan

mere sliver; then salvaged by a maskmaker
if mountain makers last by root and bud
of artful past from a forgetful dancer

sequestered in their unearned sorrow, sung
too low and dear for an angry wound to hear
too clear for tears or dollar bills to hold

but a mask is living loss returned to wood
impossibility the daily ending felt
itself not made nor lost enough to face

so held and turned; for an ugly splinter
with yet some reservoir of mammoths blood
in love, it was an advantageous marriage

//