They litter the beach, these fascinating, dangerous, awe inspiring organisms, where I walk after a leisurely breakfast. 

I must be careful not to step on one in my bare feet. Like pink ziploc bags packed with blue ink spilling from a hole in the bottom. On my return, I look them up, discover this Atlantic Portuguese man-o'-war is not, in fact a type of jelly fish. It's not even a single organism, but "a colony of individual organisms that must work together to function as an individual animal!" Well, I'm intrigued and want to know more; I just don't want to meet one in the water, so I guess I won't be swimming in the ocean this trip. 

And then, a windbreak of hibiscus bushes in front of a hotel has been rattled by sea breezes and suddenly I am stepping by blossom after blossom gorgeously ruined by  surf. 

I'm thinking about the poem I tweaked before sleeping last night. I thought I had found the right title, but a better one rose to the surface of consciousness just before sleep. And then, in the liminal space of almost sleep, I tweak the title, finally, one last time, I suspect. This morning I remember to place this final title on the revised poem, and I feel satisfied, this feels just right, complete. 

A second, late afternoon walk ends with palm trees and the sun about to set on a lovely day.

All text and photos copyright 2018 by Kelly DuMar, unless otherwise attributed