Nestor and the Dolphin

It was summer and I 
was working for next to nothing
when in a gift store I saw him
kissing a dolphin.
 
I carried the picture 
to my room, placed it on the sill 
where I returned each night, feeling 
nothing much at all
to see him again:
 
His head bowed 
to the fish as in prayer, and the dolphin’s 
lifted to him—
 
Of course, there are other 
reasons to feel drawn: his arms
raise the glistening head as if to
make an offer; and his shoulders like 
stones are rounded by shadows; and then
there are the gentle lines 
of the jaw, the back, and the things that
move to compose attraction 
in quiet gestures.
 
My room was never not 
a mess, but I kept him, surprised at how little 
I cared for the absence
of bed sheets, or a dresser, or a rug to cover the linolium—
 
I know you
cannot love a postcard. 
But sometimes, it is enough 
to be stilled 
between all the other things you feel 
you must do.