Every shell is dipped in night. Place an ear against the ceramicto eavesdrop on fox squabbles, crows watching rubbish bagsleft 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...