Recognition *

 

Disentangled

you stand — 

dripping,

breathless,

 

stunned to see that as you 

raged, spinning,

 

the storm

hung each tethered 

leap

 

not with tears,

but mirrors —

each shining reflection strung

like gems

or galaxies

 

each one quivering with 

the question — 

 

who am I?

 

— and not one spared 

in the answering.

 

 

* This poem was accidentally and briefly posted before it’s time (last week). Ready now. My apologies for any confusion.