Why do you cling to a concrete seawall like you have found your place forever? Why can’t you be wandering — or be one with the sea?
The sea is yet beginning to grow; and small splashes of low tides intermittently kiss you on a lower dyke. I can see you in your shell spitting water after every splash of sea waves you are stroked with. You are truly alive.
What if the sea is even nowhere in sight? Can you survive the scorching heat of the sun?
You are as dead when dry and resurrected when hit by the waves. Are you there forever, oysters? You’re not, little stubborn creations.
Soon will your flesh be uprooted and eaten. Is that what you are called for? Oysters cannot hear me, for the great waters have come.