which shell should we pick out of the storm’s wrack
some have windows smashed into the spires
others are volute and remain intact
or else are reduced to twisted bone wire
the porcelain staircase intrigues the eye
yet denies access - so our reflex
is to pursue - deep inside and high -
a consummation more perfect than sex
put the wormcast down again - leave the shell’s
obvious mystery to itself
and just let the wide surf and the tide’s swell
claim it with the same openness and stealth
that made it - our minds a mollusc in the end
stranded and powerless to fuse or blend
Blackwell’s
Oxford
6 February 2018
The seashell I had in mind here is one found on New Zealand shores - the Fusitriton Magellanicus Laudandus. Composed between 6 am and 7 am this morning, then edited at Blackwell’s, the sonnet must be a gift to New Zealand on our national day, Waitangi Day.