That faceless man I knew had hair to grow and scars to earn and bones to break on shiny motorcycles black, and seamless flesh beneath his eyes so ingenue and blank. That faceless man I knew claimed innocence, green innocence and awkward grace, with leaves to burn, lean thighs to ride and running roads unparalleled before his mirrors looked back, before each winding road wound down upon itself, before his face was cast, before I learned what I’ve become, before I earned what I’ve defined, before the earth sped round the sun, again…again… Appeared in The Magazine of Speculative Poetry