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
May 22, 2012
May 22, 2012 at 1:50 PM UTC
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
Request permission to use this poem