by Caroline Liberatore

Light, steadied. What might it mean
for no shadow to touch? I’m perforated,
blink, and shadow shifts the coloring,
concaving to ruinous depths, each rise and set.

Cycles of duplicity eclipsed by integrity
leave me withered in wake of a judge.
How battered I’ve become in my reflecting—
what bliss would it be for no shadow to touch?

Father of Lights, could Your placid beams
kiss even my darkest craters
unraveling the criss-crossed seams
of this double-hearted doubter?

Caroline Liberatore recently graduated with her B.A. in English and currently works in a public library. She has also been published in Ekstasis Magazine, Foreshadow Magazine, and Amethyst Review, among others. You can find more of her work at carolinelib.wordpress.com.

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