It’s time for a brief holiday from the unscrubbed mirror.

So, I see all this stuff
About life and love
And dying
And how the stars echo
Some frail eternal now

And, yes, it’s hard
And though our hands be held
Entwined but ever separate
That skin that marks the boundary
Also holds the keys
And all that

And all that loss
Was dross
And some plain spun funk
Reminds of deathless agony
So far,
So long
Ago

Okay, I get that,
But just what is my job here, anyway?