Oyster

Oyster.

If I were on a beach,
And had but a single oyster shell,
And if it were as thin,
As the crescent moon that curdles her light in the sky,
If it were as weak
As the poor west wind wounding his flesh on the rocks,
If it were as small
As an newborn child with every word still unbroken,
In the eternal womb silence of death,
If it were shallow,
As the pool that lays only in shadow,
Shunning the gentle sun and her rays of sweet healing,
And if it were hidden
As far from sight as the stars that are now pale,
Lost in this mist of sorrow,
Then I would dig a grave
Deeper than the sea bracken that is tossed in the wave,
Wider than the black sky,
More hard-wrought than the sword that lies unsheathed in the
furnace,
And with my last soft gift of tears,
I would bury my heart, my love, and my song.
Burn time in the sand.
Then I would sleep tight as an oyster.

01/01/02