I am a judge (but I do not judge).
Soft darkness pours from my empty eyes.
With a shrug I weep onto the ground:
divide (not decide) what’s to keep or despise.
I am the O that holds onto stones,
fragments of twig, and shards of bones.
I am the O pierced all over by light.
I am the O! that is in plain sight.
Incidentally, if you're interested I wrote a blog post about riddles and readers here.