Clam

Each one is a small life, but sometimes long, if its

place in the universe is not found out. Like us, they

have a heart and a stomach; they know hunger, and

probably a little satisfaction too. Do not mock them

for their gentleness, they have a muscle that loves

being alive. They pull away from the light. They pull

down.

They hold themselves together. They refuse to

open.

But sometimes they lose their place and are tumbled

shoreward in a storm. Then they pant, they fill

with sand, they have no choice but must open the

smallest crack. Then the fire of the world touches

them. Perhaps, on such days, they too begin the

terrible effort of thinking, of wondering

who,

and

what,

and

why.

If they can bury themselves again in

the sand they will. If not, they are sure to perish,

though not quickly. They also have resources beyond

the flesh; they also try very hard not to die.