Propulsion Lab 
Kyra Jee 
 
 
In the yard, a biologist rinses her hands clean — 
wrings out — her hair. Saltwater saturates her collar, 
then drops — soaks — into thin, recumbent blue moss. 
 
Quince grows — in the yard — with fruit so yellow, 
and ridgeless, and fist-sized — there is no need 
for sunlight here. Veils of fog slip over — the bridge strings. 
 
The scrubby cliffside — opens — to the bay. 
In the distance — a dormant volcano. Sailboats 
dot the horizon, mistaken often — for gulls. 
 
Behind the concrete lab, the radiator — hums. 
Going up, narrow redwood roads. 
 
Here, the study of jellyfish. What constitutes — 
the jellies? What composes — the jellies? 
 
Great skeins of jellyfish — umbrella — and spark — and bloom —