Faces
For most of human history, the only time we saw what we looked like was in bodies of water
I am ripple, cattails
through lily pads, shiver
of green on watery surface.
Minnows nibbling at my toes.
Bare feet on sun-warmed
stone. I wake to the sun.
Sleep in hammocks
of silk. In the currents,
it is my grandfather
I see. I give myself
to moss, to white flies,
to bark softening to soil,
to the hands of time,
gentle as rain.
I disappear.
Poems in Passage
Thank you to our valued partners
TTC • Aga Khan Museum; Pattison
Design & layout by Marissa Korda & Marta Ryczko
Picture of the Faces poem taken on the Toronto subway in May, 2026.
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