SEASHELLS

Buried in sand, our toes divine them like a water stick,

Surf-polished exoskeletons, four layers deep,

Sculpted in whorls and terraces when the

Ocean floods and wind-dragged waves

Dash back to the sea.

Bones wash ashore,

Lie disguised by grace of form;

Such outer shells, like pearls,

Conjure up thieves of ocean scraps,

Bait our steps along the shore,

Surround our eyes

With structural remains

In a low-tidal charnel house

Left adrift before an open sky and dune of clouds.

Relics sift out,

Like fossils unearthed and prized,

For a history of carrion,

Whose rigid shapes are borne upon their backs

And set upon display,

While our hidden bones are

Buried earthen deep and

Marked with name on stone.

© cmheuer, 2014