Where’s the dolphin?  Still inside?
I remember the last time we showed each other:
The surf skin ridden, hands fanning, finding the dorsal.
This was a new life we petted, held, with some slick
Giddy language whinnying all the way…

Love is empowered by such joy.
It causes, for a minute, toxic detonations to ebb,
Brings just one more sustaining flicker to replace
The last ray heaving out from the face
Of someone starving.

That’s what happens when climbing on the dolphin’s
Back or slipping along his side, each body a vase
Filled in, spilling over, but still containing
What nearly splashes…

But where is he?
We need that diving, that loop to loop, these waves
Simply significant, a passage for day, night, night, day,
Now that we must wear the other’s clothes
If only to feel touch, now that we’re bread
Broken, toasts proposed & smashed straight
Into the bay’s sweeping heart…

My friend, the dolphin.  Remem…
Here he is, fins at your chest, lovely
Living, playful suede.

by Stephen Mead