Something deep in her bones

tells her the ocean she is swimming in

isn’t really hers. She is only as strong

as her pod, so she opens her palms wide

to every stranger who she could call home.

She is as trapped as she is free. For every pectoral

fin slapping against the gulf stream there is a bottlenose

stuck in a fishing line, torn by boat rudders

or trapped behind plexiglass walls.

She knows the joy of splashing

with friends. No vapes or joints,

only edibles. She needs powerful lungs

to propel her body forward.

Her body is all that she has to protect herself from predators.

Her body is all she has. Home is her body

moving forwards, to what, she is unsure.

She communicates not in words

but in soft clicks. Rise and exhales through her blow hole,

feel the sun on her dorsal fin. She will always see herself

as a caged animal and will still do tricks for an applause

or maybe some chum. Dolphins used to have legs,

an ugly primordial thing like her and they grew to be beautiful.

Kayaking in the early dawn on the Indian River,

she will see a fin cut the water

and will think

yes, nothing else

could be this perfect.