To Raise Goats, Get A Nanny

I saw myself split into two shadows:
one dark, one light, with a deeper
abyss where they joined.
A crystal pendant hung on the dark side.
Between the shadows a small clear globe
contracted and expanded like my heart.
In the distance a baby wailed plaintively.
All at once the two shadows seemed
more evenly matched, the lighter that much
darker, the darker not so dark.
Was I favoring the dark side?
I nearly laughed.
Babies are wailers. Always.
And when don't they get enough attention?

The crystal sparkled and another babe
joined the retinue.
With one sweep of the shutters opening
my shadows become headless and unreal.
So every ideal becomes
on the dark side of Cyrus's moon

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Page 12 (Black Book: Light Heart)