Who? Who?

Do you ever stop to wonder—
say, right now, this morning—
what you’d see in the mirror
with your mask off?
Oh, I don’t mean casual glimpses
when you are shaving,
or combing your hair,
or cleaning out blackheads,
when you hardly see anybody at all.
Nor when you play a role,
a time when you are jealous
and thoughts about the girl
cut like fine wires and your face snarls,
or maybe at a party you took
one drink too many and made
an ass of yourself and you can see
the shamed look in the eyes all right.
No, I mean eyeball to eyeball,
you look that guy in the mirror
right in the face without any cover-up
and, my god, he’s a stranger,
someone you never saw before.
A face drowned in a pool of glass
floats gently on the surface
caught in the drifting weeds of time,
mute in the shadow of my question,
Who, who are you?