By: Michael G. Dean (from his book, Sea shells, Distillate Press, Minneapolis,  MN,  J.D. Peterson, editor)


Wash-softened and

full gleamed with gone,

sun-sparked spoon

was alone.


Empty filled spoon

inversely and hushed—

her lip smoothed curves

edged away


the spilling in of soup, of coffee,

of cream, of tongue

and she had no use


for the clang of cup

or ding of tooth—


Full, however,

by the lowered darkness of morning,


slithered to fork—

a mouthful of shadows




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