The Body
The Body
There is something nearer than the body.
How else would we wonder, Is that knuckle
Going to crack or isn’t it? Were we
The body, how could we be so aware
Of it, as if it belonged to someone
Else? I seem to look down on my body
As one does in those dreams in which one dies
And hovers over, say, the plane wreckage,
As once I did, feeling a vague pity,
Thinking, So that’s how it ended, only
To wake up in my body, or near it.