Churning in a spiral shell,
a monotone of waves
rolls from a mouth of opal
into memory’s caves
as it huskily repeats
in a low, convulsive breath
a distant, constant beat
gritty as truth.
Out of the beached whorl’s
salmon-tinted throat
and glossy mother-of-pearl
thrums a univocal note,
a steady systole,
as if the shell had found
in the early, hearsay sea
inaugural, salted sound.
William F Dougherty
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/conch/
