Like warm
only wetter—a reared nestling;
the next
to last one—
headless,
bristling—though no longer
bedraggled
by foggiest intimations
of saline bluegray;
its soft fraying spine—
clammy,
primitive,
over-conspicuous—
folded perfectly
neatly—inside its
gold coffin—this intelligent
tin—of delicious
salt brine.
