“An oyster’s/ answer to a tear—” – D. Bonta

Mothers called out from high windows to warn
of the cold that was coming.

Men turned in the fields, swiveling their blades
and pulling one last knob from the earth
to drop into a sack.

At the farthest edge of the ocean, a single wave
higher than a mountain trembled in the breeze,

awaiting the first icy shock
and its fatal splintering.


In response to Via Negativa: Pearls.

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