Beauty that cannot be spoken

I'm never quite certain why it is that things catch my eye, but I just had to photograph this reflective column in the Newark airport. I've stretched it out (unpeeled it) so that the individual elements of reflection can be revealed.

It has a sort of "beam me up, Scottie" feel to it, I see now. But I think what I like about it is the transitory, mystical quality it gives to everything except the ceiling; a perfect illustration of this Rumi poem:

The open sky drinks from their circling cup.
The sun wears the gold of their generosity.
When two of them meet,
they are no longer two.
They are one, and six hundred thousand...

Friends, we are traveling together.
Throw off your tiredness.
Let me show you one tiny spot 
of the beauty that cannot be spoken...