Embodied Cognition

Light falls on objects in my periphery;
         when it hits the retina in the back of the eye,
photoreceptors transform it into electrical signals 
         conveyed to the brain, where they reassemble 
as images: the fig tree's leaves in late afternoon,
         pollen coating every plank on the deck;
container ships in the distance, like Lego blocks
         crossing the river. How do I know this,
as well as everything else I say I know? Not
         just because consciousness isolates how
all these things take up space in the mind, but also
         because I feel the sweat pool in the small
of my back, smell salt in the wind, touch the gradually
         purpling plush on the cheeks of fruit.