Distortions

Legs break apart beneath the lake’s skin —

a glass fractured by a careless glance.

Ripples press the skin in slow waves,

light bending over muscle, bone.

A stranger’s voice cuts through the heat:

“Look how they disappear, then shimmer —

like they belong to someone else.”

I stare too long,

watch toes flicker, then vanish

into the shallow gloom.

Underwater,

legs are not legs,

but moving shadows,

pulled and loose,

far from the ground,

not quite mine,

never still.