On the beach I saw a jellyfish –
tentacles up;
lying there,
lying there.

I stepped closer,
bent my knees,
put my nose right near its sandy, silly, not-real body -
silicon melted and returned to the factory,
lost at sea on the way -

and it moved.

One heaving, tensing, muscle-movement
saying,
I'm
still alive,
still alive.

I prodded it with my finger to see if it would hurt.
(It felt like the brush of a stranger's shoulder
on the way into a too-small doorway)
I pushed it with my hand towards the ocean,
rolling, kicking, apologizing,
stopping each time to check if it was

still alive.
Finally

I shoved it partway into the water.
It rolled over like an obedient dog in the waves.
I saw for the very first time,

Right in the middle,
a piece of jellyfish was missing,
as though someone had taken a bite and forgotten the rest.

I realized it would not make it
in the sea.