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SHELLS I HAD NOT MYSELF FOUND ON THE BEACH
Or a gift of fern wrapped in cellophane. Introduction a blurred intangible, stilted syllable I feel my way past. Fluted rim or euphony. Your unmercenary gaze gilding some spiral staircase with longing. Unless I sit under the shade of a poplar, pluck with my fingers chestnut, puffball, bold whirligig of maple. The alien offices of monstrance or pedestal move me little. Reflection of red tile in the rain-heavy air, leave something of this snail’s trace. |
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