David Petruzelli
THE HORN OF THE PAPERWEIGHT CONCH
Miles from your waves, I still listen,
The air slow as the snail I mistook you for
This morning, in the dark . . .
Only running water reached
To clean you out, but all night
I dreamt that deep inside
Dried meat still dangled by a thread–
You tried to shake it loose
By rolling back and forth across my desk
As you did before on the sand:
The time you spoke to no one,
Made a fist and years later woke ;
You grew large with the sea all around you ,
A pearl throbbed in you like a heart .
Listen you say, so I hold you ,
And all you have ever heard
You hold . Like a swimmer
Who leaves the ocean and lies down ,
You still
feel
it, the waves still working;
Miles of seaweed shrug with the surf,
Fossil starfish burn on the rocks like blaze marks.
Your breath slips back to tell yourself
UncOtI, do not give yourselfup.
