sphere
i hold in my hand a piece of cut glass,
ruby red sphere, hundreds of facets reflect,
the entire spectrum of hues-
deepest crimson, fading to a white nearly pure.
my own image, scattered pieces,
fragment along the curved surface. tiny mirrors-
every one unique, slightly altered, yet
all equally true.
each minute vision a world of its own,
all aspects of my self separately complete.
a slip of perspective- and fragments unite
revealing the entire picture,
inexpressable view of a whole
always changing, held in the
palm of my hand.