strange how we can recognize someone
    by the shape of their shadows how
                        the places the light cannot reach tells more than
the places it strikes,                                  that the span of darkness across their throat tells more
about the way they move and the way they feel than the
                                  tear in the eye, suspended, caught on an eyelash, unfalling with the light;
       that the empty spaces of white that the shadow doesn't reach
tells me they are a reality                   and that the curve of their body is not impermanent,                                  or that the shadow is not permanent,                                           or that the light is fluctual, lining the liminal space between the two,
                                                               that the design of human nature is wrought not in one space but two,
           folding over and in, not in two colors,
but one: one within and one without.