Soul by David Ferry

What am I doing inside this old man’s body?

I feel like I’m the insides of a lobster,

All thought, and all digestion, and pornographic

Inquiry, and getting about, and bewilderment,

And fear, avoidance of trouble, belief in what,

God knows, vague memories of friends, and what

They said last night, and seeing, outside of myself,

From here inside myself, my waving claws

Inconsequential, wavering, and my feelers

Preternatural, trembling, with their amazing

Troubling sensitivity to threat;

And I’m aware of and embarrassed by my ways

Of getting around, and my protective shell.

Where is it that she I loved has gone to, as

This cold sea water’s washing over my back?