Grace Harbor, Desolation Sound
When we wake the next morning
and look over the side to check the anchor:
jellies, jellies, jellies!
The water around us is a thick carpet
of moon jellies, each little orb pulsing,
rising and falling in the tide swell.
Even though we know better, we can't help
stretching out our hands, reaching down.
Who could resist touching the moon,
if it came down, in its thousand little bodies,
and surrounded us? Sometimes we need
to be chosen. Sometimes, we need for belief
to be out of our hands.
Published in Salamander