Submerged Light

In the tub, the light from above

breaks on the surface, shimmers and plays.

My legs, stretched out, no longer what they are,

they ripple and waver, a mirage in the haze.

The skin looks thin, translucent and strange,

the familiar curve of calf, the kneecap's line,

all soft edges, pulled and rearranged.

Like a dream version, not really mine.

It's quiet, save for the water's soft sigh,

and my breath, slow, in and out, a small thing.

I watch them, these borrowed limbs, float by,

a silent, shimmering, almost-real wing.