The sand comes in
uninvited.
The oyster does the only thing it can to protect its quivering, salty, delicate flesh.
It excretes layers of iridescence, moist rainbows,
an accretion of moonlight.
I think all beauty is something like this –
un-chosen, necessary
holding something sharp in its heart.
1 comment:
Lovely em. You need to submit this somewhere.
Post a Comment