There is the thought of dolphins
trailing gracefully in the wake
of a ship,
playful in the light and spray.

You, watching from inside, this moment
that is but one of your life, but the
kind you’ll hold, knowing even now

there are things that should not be
forgotten (they will be, of course,
but not for what seems like many years)

dolphins making love for pleasure;
the familiar fragrance of your hair
as it tilts in, away, black as coal,

incandescent in the grey autumn light;
your hands playing at biology, curious:
what exactly is our purpose here?

We were discussing the peculiar shapes
of gourds, and also the different types
of fucking that animals practice.

(You tell me there is a concrete order
to the partnering of many polygamous birds;
I tell you that certain birds of prey,
making love, ascend, fuse together,

then plummet)