Two short stanzas set the word "body" beside things we don't usually think of as bodies: a stretch of land and a pile of debt. Each one is then pulled into strange, small comparisons that make something large feel personal.
In the first, land is "lost as a hand / in a pocket." The image is oddly gentle. A hand tucked into a pocket is hidden, not gone, so the loss feels quiet and almost casual, as if ownership or belonging slipped out of sight without a fuss. In the second, debt can "keep wheels going / in the heart." Here debt is a strange kind of fuel, something that drives a person even as it weighs on them.
The speaker never says outright how they feel, but the tone seems wry and a little uneasy. The mood is quiet and puzzling, leaving you to sit with how money and land can become part of our own bodies.