Thanatopsis for the Carpet Layer

Knees gone, razor knife lying loose finally,
variations linger underfoot.
The nap I smooth
nails me down, hammerless,
holding the horizon down.

The patterns emerge under my eyelids now,
Korean Persian, my faults hidden
like irregulars under sofas,
but cut to fit the corners
of my eyes

as I lie with trimmed nails
and unworn suit.
The earth is perfect and precise.