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.
