In Search of Cheekbones (Poetry)

The ghost in morning's mirror isn't me -
it's merely canvas, blank before the paint
discovers form, an edge, a place to be
that's relevant, defining who I am
today or any time I take the brush
and colour in some space, outline the feint -
what nature couldn't manage on its own -
disguise, conceal or highlight, find the bone
beneath the flattened plain, accentuate
lips and brows, embolden, smooth and shape
a someone I can recognise with cheeks
like artworks - self-deluding modern fakes.