I had a dream last night that you read my poetry out loud to me,
and at the word "mask" you used a low,
                                   definitive tone.
                              It was your voice.
It resonated within me as I realized that
I knew you well enough to construct
        the exact frequencies of your vocal range
while I was asleep.
It was your face, too.
                        Grinning, but holding back,
                             half afraid,
                                   half elated.
That's all I remember from that dream.
When I woke up I remembered the basic framework
but not the voice, or the face,
                           just the words.

There have been tears and laughter and
                                       screams and chatter,
     but nothing is going to be worse
                                      than the inevitable silence.