Tonight you are paddling a canoe in the middle of the ocean

Tonight you are paddling a canoe
 in the middle of the ocean,
 precisely midway in the Atlantic.
 You are vaguely aware ocean and
 canoe are anagrams for each
 other. You heard that somewhere,
 and you feel like it’s come back to
 mock you now. Here. Now.
 Nowhere. The stars are out
 tonight, a thing to behold. You
 feel fake, made out of paper,
 constructed, a concert of dust.
 Something is wrong. You’re not
 moving. That’s not quite right. 
You’re moving two directions at
 once and canceling both out. The
 waves form a random pile that
 you swear is perfectly ordered.
 You are Gs, As, Ts, and Cs, an
 incomplete alphabet spilling into
 the soup of the sea. Your canoe
 dissolves. You do, too. You are
 everywhere at once, a riddle for
 poets or theoretical physicists. At 
some level, you think before all
thinking ceases, there’s not so
 much difference between those
 fields. At some level, you think,
 the possibilities outweigh the real.