An / improvised piece / for the calliope

An efflorescence, as if from
a swarm of gnats, is all that
is left once the mirages have
vanished. Salt does not sing,
no matter how much one
might want it to. Instead,
look for a shell — yes, Vir-
ginia, deserts once were
oceans — hold it up to your
ear to hear the cry of the ex-
tant crinoids, the faint echoes
from the extinct ichthyosaurs.