To Swim with Dolphins
by Nils Clausson

    He wanted that,
    all summer in the hospital
    a pod of machines sounding him,
    pumping in, sucking out,
    his legs faint ripples in the sheets.

    My friend, who loved to sail
    to the eye of the wind, close-hauled,
    who taunted the rip-tide,
    rolling with any wave who'd have him,
    reduced to this puny adventure.

    On the parking lot roof, I stare
    at the city turned cadmium orange,
    and wish he'd leave like sunset,
    incendiary, streaks of fire his wake,
    instead of this withering.






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