A phase of the waiting bride

You look like a captive,
a kidnapped woman
with a black cloth
tied, covering your eyes.

You look scared.

I can see your mouth,
your face turned away
trying to hide
from what you cannot see.

You look hopeless.

But I know your pattern.
I know this cycle
you go through-
phases of light
shining off your face.
Various degrees of the
world’s ability
to blind you.

You look afraid.

A quarter of your glow shines
under your cheeks.
The sun will not give up
this day among weeks.

You look relentless.