Refraction

The chlorine is a sharp, chemical bite,

blue as a bruise in the midday light.

I sit on the step where the tile is slick,

and the heat of the sun is a heavy brick.

I look down at my legs in the moving glass,

watching the ripples and the shadows pass.

The water has bent me, shortened the bone,

turning my shins into something unknown.

They look pale and bloated, a stranger's limb,

severed at the waist where the surface is dim.

I am two different people, split at the seam,

half in the air and half in the dream.