glass shell
these are the sculptured towers
visible only under a microscope
no-melt igloos, isolation rooms, a byzantine wall
of fantasy stones
the circle enfolds a gleaming maze of
dream-time, vital organs, glass braincells
the circle defends itself----spires and forests
beautiful glass cities
ciliated fibers, the distant early warning
it drifts on some unimagineable ocean
searching for a place
to rock and clump like coral
to put out roots
but is unable to grow them
and the beauty of each place
is amplified by distancethe prismatic wall
when they die, their skeletons
compressed, are the chalk-white of bones
a kind of soft stone
a colony of dead travellers

ii

the muscle inside tough and vulnerable
Venus rises out of the sea
the cobalt eyes of a bombshell
the fleshy mantle
but you don't eat that part, only the muscle
that clamps the shell in panic
the eyes are a sapphire diadem---the whole house
is jet propelled
if you stroke the scallop it may open
and look at you almost with affection
these are the jewels
visible only to the beloved

Previously published and copyrighted in
Earth's Daughters #13
Driving for Yellow Cab(Tout Press, 1985)
All rights reserved.

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