The water cool against my skin

The water, cool against my skin,

a stillness after walking.

But looking down, where to begin?

This strangeness starts talking.

My legs, they blur, they bend and shift,

unmoored from bone and muscle.

A watery, pale gift,

lost in the gentle hustle

of surface tension. The shapes distort,

made fluid, unfamiliar.

A pale, submerged report,

growing ever stiller.

Not mine, it seems, this other pair,

refracted, dim, and slow.

Just floating, waiting there,

with nowhere else to go.