SHELL ON THE SHELF
A sand-snail shell rests on the shelf,
with time-traced whorls of growing’s curve,
a swirl of logarithmic spiral.
And so it sits in still completedness,
far from the vast, wave-rippled ocean;
so purely formed, brown and alone,
far from its forming, slow creation,
where curves of water, time and life
were gradually gathered into stone
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