We are both wary of prying
open the mussels, what squirming

soft flesh we will find there, housed
inside shells, hard and freighter

grooved, layering silt, adding veneers
to protect the wine-soaked tenderness

as we each probe the way in. Let us
expose the gray prize before consumption.

The last one hiding, the toughest to open;
don’t we, too, want to remain inside?