In Which the Wind's Sleeve Gives

[inevitably_grey]

Rainbow Abalone Shell

Imagine opaline fields of soap suds, minus
spheres, a watery palette of iridescence

whose inside looks like oil on hot
asphalt - that same bubbly, water-coloured

smear & smudge on layered flakes as frail
as thistle stems. Imagine Grand Canyon -

not the rugged, red stones on rough area:
nor the heat: just the bowl shape. Imagine

that hands had detached abalone, marked
where prismatics become a sheen of beryl, small

dots like blue corn inside an oval shape.