Plate on the waves,
Plate in the sea,
bobbing and swirling effortlessly
though which side is up Shrimp cannot plainly see
Because of the glare
On fine platterware
And the calcified ripple of tablecloth foam.
Spoon in the sea,
Spoon of the deep,
lodged in the coral of Moray Eel’s keep
where rust and disuse climactically heap
within hidden fold
until time is old
And the ravels run out of tablecloth foam.
Knife of the deep,
Kife on the sand,
hurtling swift ‘cross the vast sunken land
to conquer what Orca and Squid both command
and take them as well
for pleasures to sell
Cast up from the bosom of tablecloth foam.
Man from the sand,
Man on his ship,
fortuitous you should take such a trip
and adhere plate to spoon to knife in your slip
to use what is there,
though some mourn the pare
While fizzling to nothing but tablecloth foam.
Morning's Early Dark 