Master of Masks

I’m a master of masks,
I carved them all by expert hand
for each day and season,
place and occasion,
from graceful to angry,
stubborn gnarly wood
or shining silver,
polished, refined
as gossamer swords
and fairy wings of Damascus steel;
I wear one to the ball
and two on the train,
spares at hand and more in a chest,
changing faces in swivel chair turns,
polishing paste the new perfume
and sawdust the season’s look;
I’m their master,
and they are mine.