Backs bent and elbows up
We scan for tiny volcanoes
For the juice of truth
Clarity amongst mud
Spitting from these broad flats
Of this primeval shore

And dig quickly
Shoveling sodden earth
Our goal swimming away
Through the seemingly solid
At a less than equal speed

And when we achieve
When we heft that nugget of muscle
In our sandy paws
We notice the concentric rings
Years of growth of cell and bone
Designed to protect
And hide the vulnerable,
the truth of itself.

When we breech the seal
And the mollusk releases its prize
We're surprised to find no pearl
Though there's never been pearl in clam
But there's sweet and salty juice
And the flavorful muscle of its being
And the joyful dining together



© 2002 Homer Christensen