Hope washes up from the sea As you walk along the tide: A clamshell nudging against your foot Interrupting your stride. Its shape and form ambiguous Presenting a mystery to your eyes: Which the front and which the back? Two-sided as it lies. Its surface feels uncertain When you take it from the sand, To touch both smooth and rough And able to cut your hand. It might freely open in your palm Inviting you in like a friend But might hold fast and shut you out Unyielding to the end. Although it could give nourishment— A meal from the meat that lined it— Still such a shell might be a loss, Already empty when you find it.