He laid his mind out like parquetry on the floor

all different grains & shades connected

a maze of mandala like geometries

of finer polish than he’d ever thought.
He watched the sun play across its face

fingertips tracing smoothes of skin

without shame of intimacy | intimacy led

to greater purviews of self construction. 
He was not he, in the constructed sense

of where light stopped & floor began.

He was he in the reflective sense

of gaze upon glaze of own lacquer.
No dust between he & himself,

reflection cut crisp outlines—

perfectly mirrored movement

on a dance floor | his alone to dance.