Woman

You rise indolently-

half of you smiles.

The other drifts behind shadow, whispering

something about the darkness,

or the light.

Half of you can’t tell the difference,

the other knows exactly who

to hunt.

This face that changes on

a whim,

not yours.

Controlled by cycles

designed by others.

Still.

Your light splits rooftops

like love,

or laughter.

A scar and a memory.

You’ve been crying again.

A porcelain bruise in an indifferent sky.

The wolves adore you.

And the tide cowers

under your gaze.

If I could touch you,

I would know that it’s all right to be two things

at once.

And nothing at all.

Controlled,

and controllable.

Controlling,

and free.

I would know that it is okay,

to glow and to grieve.

To be worshipped and to yearn.

To hold the whole night in your mouth

and still pray for morning.

Your shimmer is not light at all,

but the sound of my quiet breaking.

And the loneliness of knowing:

I will never know you at all.