Newton's Death Mask

The portraits impose distance:
even 300 years ago, he was more
an emblem than a man.

I prefer the aged 3D face,
which seems so delicate. 
Brow a little furrowed,
almost a smile.  He does not
look remotely insecure. 
The photo of the death mask
makes me want to touch him
(cheekbone, eyelid)
to close my eyes and press my face
against his face—not the flesh,
but the cool surface of the cast.

Two skulls, touching.
A version of union,
a visitation,
chord from a voice, the lather
of excitement
not mine,
all mine.