I fold inward by the window all morning,
curled over the conch
I hold pressed to my chest like a child.

It is mine in the dark--
This Pale Sea. It whispers to me.
It says: a shell, a shell, a shell....

Then the shipwreck--
The Mist.
Oars rattle like bones.

Pink smooth ghost,
I am in love.

But our ship has sunk.

I am already a slug,
a salt, a crustacean.

                                                
                                        K.D. Mann