RAHYT

Go get a mirror.

Stare into your eyes --
be they blue,
green-hazel,
or brown
while making sure you're good
and close to the surface.

Catch the orange-peeling,
liquid-marbles osculating,
like an eddy current
and blink.

Smirk a smug smile
on seeing yourself,
and wonder where exactly you are.

Are you only that orb?

Does that define you?

Are you the circular sunrise,
or are you the blood red cirrus
seeking sundown?

Are you tendrils working like keratin
through questions
or are you unknowable?

No, you're not.

You're what's beneath the whirlpool --
beneath the cornucopia forming ribs on rainbows.
You're under the conch.
You're the Sharp-Shin's talons piercing the sparrow

like a reflection. Broken --
trying to read this poem
without a speaker,
but it's allRAHYT,
everything works out in the end.