In Newport I Watch My Father Lay His Cheek to a Beached Dolphin’s Wet Back Ocean Vuong

& close his eyes. His hair the shade

of its cracked flesh.

His right arm, inked with three falling

phoenixes--torches

marking the lives he had

or had not taken -- cradles

the pinkish snout. Its teeth

gleaming like bullets.

Huey. Tomahawk. Semi

-automatic. I was static

as we sat in the Nissan, watching waves

brush over our breaths

when he broke for shore, hobbled