the poem isn’t sure

about its body

 

maybe its left arm is imaginary 

its legs an illusion

 

its torso 

hallucinatory heaviness in the water

 

all it can know for certain

is a right arm

 

wheeling across the horizon 

sweeping through the water beneath it

 

and that might be it

maybe the poem is a mind with one arm

 

moving around in a circle

it mistakes for linear progress

 

yes there would appear to be eyes to see with

and a mouth for air 

 

but neither are visible

the presumption of a face might be fantasy

 

all the poem knows 

is its close horizon

 

a few square inches of something like ocean

an air-filled space that might be a bit of sky

 

and an arm dragging its dream of a body

through the endless waters of the poem’s life