I am most content in half-light
when knitted shadow gives better
cover, and I can claim my contours
without reprobation from full sun.
I’m less disposed to wonder
at the disappearing act my eyes seem
lately to perform—a caustic partner
for a smile. Instead, I will recline in the
very definition of a chin or shoulder, carved
from marbled glow. I may even twist
and flex to measure out objective
admiration, uniquely self-directed,
saving scraps of dimly lit acknowledgement
to last me through the day.
caroline ridgway 