Every shell is dipped in night. 
Place an ear against the ceramic
to eavesdrop on fox squabbles, 
crows watching rubbish bags
left split open like unfinished 
operations, brambles unfurling 
their fruit. Humans, extras 
with no dialogue. Open every 
shell to reveal day - the glazed 
pottery, a perfect sky. Of course, 
there's the meat: An orange muscle 
on a ready-made plate. Quiet, 
contemplative. I threw up the sea 
the first time I tried it. Didn't know 
I was chewing its prayer.