The dolphins I behold out my picture
window come in twos or threes,
like bunkmates. They’re a fixture
of this sea-gazing life. Zombies
or mourners? I can’t tell
if they’re crying in an ocean
pre-soaked with tears. Economical
in their not-leaping motion,
they seem to be half-sleeping, wholly
at ease. It’s almost holy.
Something to Consider
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