Sea In A Box

In the window box Mrs Blum grows shells

As if the sea were near and easily contained

She keeps them clean and shone

With a dab of olive oil on velvet cloth

To preserve their bone and rainbow hues

In case lost Venus or a new leviathan

No bigger than her thumb

Should wander past

And find the bowl of sea-salt water

(Kept in one end) to their taste

Sometimes a crow will give a desultory peck

And steal an empty pipi‘s unfolding halfs

Knocking it against the sides

Muttering his old complaint

Before he lets it fall and flies away

On days outstretched and gull bright

The painted boards the kind of blue

Easily mistaken for the sky

Black earth and sand within

Where a few stray gerberas grow

She makes a sunset storm with her watering can

The tremulous burnt orange

Of trammelled evening’s doffing lackadays