Velella, called sail-by-the-wind,
thousands of them blown ashore,

jelly gone soft in the heat, wing-like
sails flagging in defeat, a row

of seabirds forming to feast
upon the indigo dead,

seagulls more than willing,
pelicans looking windward

for something better,
trusting in the Pacific’s

strange generosity,
its willing deposition

of curiosities, penchant
for grand gestures,

a low tide that goes out
and out and on and out,

a risky invitation, still,
I cast my bread and wait.