The body, I say

  is the one advantage we have over the machines. 
My friend sits across the café table 
looking skeptical. He has a degenerative 
neurological disease; this takes up 
his thoughts and energy. I persist, 
They can’t teach the embodied experience 
to a machine. It’s something they’re working on 
but it’s just too hard, the body is everything. 
My friend, of course, knows this. 
I’m feeling cold now, pull my scarf 
around my shoulders and I wonder 
what really do I treasure about this body. 
I remember closing my eyes against 
the sun this morning, the frigid wind, 
then, velvety blue shadows of geese 
crossing the air above the perfectly still 
snow-covered river, how the crystalized 
surface came alive, absorbing the sleek, 
fluid occlusion of the light as the flock
flew over, sharpened wingtip, crescent 
and contour, the pattern fleeting and I felt 
the movement of the softened shadows 
travel swift within my chest, their indigo 
print tethering my mind, staying me.
I look at my friend; he meets my eye.