It’s a bargain I suppose, no need
to swim, just float, no self, only
part of the flow, encompassed
by ocean, a greater whole, but
today I am struck by the

loneliness of the jellyfish.

A man o’war is beautiful
even washed ashore,
fluorescing, dream-like,

not of this world.

But even in death it can’t
be touched, is ever armed,

never safe.

More Midas than Medusa,
it is never just exquisite,
is always bubble fin

and pain.