Oysters

I remember this one time in a fish restaurant near Cartagena, or maybe this was Lisbon, David held the menu up and pointed at the Blue point Oysters and said "a dozen?" fully knowing we had agreed to stop for a quick snack and that he was pushing the envelope and I said yes and though he doesn't readily smile for this kind of small win I could tell it made him happy and I remember thinking how fragile joy is and how 6 mollusks can make a friend's day and I think I gave him one of mine and so that's 7 in total and maybe he remembers that too.

The oysters count within their shells unceasing patterns of abandonment Each wave marks another layer each layer turning solid morning is only salt and glue if I could seep into this moist blindness who would I be then oysters or the sea that trembled? I touch my hair translucent algue hair and look through the doorway cut into the stone a luminous mollusk spaces out a moment to hide my fascination