she did not want anyone
to understand her

she did not want the world
to understand her

she did not want the sky nor the ground
to understand her

she just wanted
   to understand
               herself.

Where is the poem,
the one I culdn't feel?
Escaped, like a flock of gulls
when all that's left is shells.
The mussels gone
or rotted
by heavy salty air;
exposed like a heart
to a fisherman
who never eats his catch
but hasn't the sense
to toss it in the water.
I am a shell,
with nothing succulent
to share.