Oyster

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I do not want to forget that I, the poet, exist because of evolution.
The river-sea is black but it carries
the shadow of the moon on its back.
It wears the right expression of intimacy.
The bending moonlight says to the thick river-sea.
As thick as a jar of honey or molasses.
Fishermen are on their boats whispering to themselves
“You gave me eyes God for yesterday’s and today’s catch.”
The fisherman looks down to see an oyster in his net
that seems to say “Come for me. When will you come for me Saviour?”
I surrender! I climb into the river of silk
hiding the bad talent of a needle and dignified flowering bone.

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