People passed a dolphin around, children’s game,
show and tell, here, my turn, taking selfies, Yours
Truly With Dolphin, not too big a guy, look, round
and round, stroking as if it were a healing relic, round
and round until it died
and they lay it on the sand,
the body small and smooth, contained in itself,
and they walked away, carrying their lives, leaving
the exhausted body called by some Franciscana,
its skin like the simple cloak of the saint, though
we love it to death, its death, our own.
