Dolphin in the Tiles

From the fever of the bath
I see a dolphin in the tiles.

For sure, a shadow.

Was it there when I stabbed the surface?
Has it come to attend?
With what intent?
Is it a friend?

Chummy creature.
Not a hippo, nor a poodle.
My puddle shifts into a pond.
I squash a bomb.

My thalassic tub features forget-me-nots.

I dunk my head into the current;
switching gears.
I’m drinking from the inlet.
Forty seconds, then I leap.

I lean back,
enjoy the drought.

No more dolphin in the tiles.

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