man dreams of being a new man,
neither young nor old. He stands
against a gray background
maybe clouds, or an ordinary room.
He is whole, seamless. Others drift by,
fade into gray, only a few notice him.
Though his hands are sparkling triangles
of fine-beaten gold, close to each other,
whirling, creating a sun.
he looks into a cave
and sees himself in a dark pond,
wedged in a corner, exposed to his chest.
An old hairdryer lies nearby, electric.
Maybe the owner will throw it in the water.
nonetheless turns back to his hands.
More come and leave in the light.