Monday, June 24, 2024

Conch

is the bone house where sunrise lives. It opens

like a hand, fleshy fingers in armor; it is

the trumpet that calls night across the surf

and drives away evil spirits. It is the fierce

defender of coral; it devours

thorny arms that scrape reefs bare.

It is succulent flesh embedded with

chatoyant pink stones, all cased in bone.

It shines dawn, sings dusk; it eats, is eaten.

It is the shell and the creature that makes the shell.

 

 

Books Available
Dervish Lions
The Day of My First Driving Lesson
Country Well-Known as an Old Nightmare's Stable
High-Voltage Lines
Knocking from Inside

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