under the sea, on a rock, a bamboo pole,
the root of a tree, a pebble, a tile or another shell,
its tooth-like but soft cilia swoosh water
over the bivalve’s gills. Its shells are open,
its muscles are relaxed.
An hour passes;
the oyster has filtered food
from five litres of water.
It has registered the breaking of the waves:
it opens and closes according to the tides.
As a cargo ship sounds its horn
the open oyster shuts in fright.