legs

Legs

Easy to forget how easy it is
to put away our legs,
those loggy bedfellows that haul us

through the shifty terrain of our days.
When I first saw you in your kayak
just pushed off from the shore

serene as a swan gliding
over its inverted image,
it seemed impossible, unnatural

that you could possess—legs.
So that’s us, I thought,
a species of wily shape shifters

addicted to inserting ourselves
into contraptions of our making
in order to make

our entrance on the world
a notable success.
As now we glide here

a pair of centaur boats
silently creasing tree reflections
in the river’s mirror

it’s good to know we will again
have a pair of legs
that will carry us to your white car

which will roll us to your green house
where a blue chamber awaits us
to step out of our costumes

into the truth of our nakedness
before inserting ourselves into white sheets
two pens in the shirt pocket of the night.