The lips
of a flesh-tone
spiral conch
Spiked
Crested with rigid quills
that harden as his ear
Draws close.
A vagabond once told him
from beneath
louche scrub brush whiskers
Every shell mourns
the loss of the ocean
Should you listen
Listen closely
Hold your breath
You can hear its lament
Sighing
Like the burst
of foam-capped breakers.
