The Circle I Make of Myself

I hold my own head like a fragile thing,
arms bent into a halo, a borrowed crown.
One face looks out, steady and unafraid,
the other turns inward, watching, holding down
the soft and quiet self that lives below.
We are the same woman, split by light,
the ego standing guard at the open door,
the soul kept warm inside the curve of night.
I am my own protector and my own
small mystery, doubled in the gray.
Look how I shield the part that cannot speak,
and let the brave one face the harsher day.