February 9th
Waves lapped against the mussels
Their shells black and glossy
like open wounds spilling.
They open like the sea’s ears
to the nightly coo of bird babies.
The crab-
lied limp in pale orange body
like a dying sunset;
I returned it to the sea
cupped in white froth hands.
Waves lapped against the mussels
Their shells black and glossy
like open wounds spilling.
They open like the sea’s ears
to the nightly coo of bird babies.
The crab-
lied limp in pale orange body
like a dying sunset;
I returned it to the sea
cupped in white froth hands.