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.

Copyright 2021 by Red River Review. First Rights Reserved. All other rights revert to the authors.
No work may be reproduced or republished without the express written consent of the author.