It all emerged from a tiny sea shell by Clare Celeste Börsch
As one grows older,there should be fewerand fewer words to say.
Each one a few lettersbut taken togethermeaning something large.
Sea. Sun. Shell. I gathera little pile, burying,unburying each, or picking
one up and holding itto the sun, thinking,too bright, too bright …
It is a game without endthat I lose myself inas the night begins to fall,
and I shiver a little,my life a colorless cloakI fancy more and more.
Like a child I will sit here,refusing all entreaties toCome in, come in right now …
Can words, a single word,save me or anyone?I hold one to my ear,
a roaring shell that saysneither yes nor no.I listen. …