We searched the beach for shells
especially these dark
twins bearing random
pale eyes of white chalk
on their backs.
And when we found I asked
Dad, will they ever match
again, thus wide apart
yet so closely connected?
They will not fit, he said
Just let them be for
they have been silenced
in death.
They are as soon will we,
he said.
I left the shells to dwell
in sea's design of waves on sand
and all along the shore
we went at last
returning home.
And then indeed he died.
In rage of memory
I had my way returning to
the shore picking
up shells, separating
these forbidden treasures
and hence pressing angrily
each upon each.
And look:
They fitted every way
as water fits in water,
despite my father's words.
I then realized how
he'd led me astray