When I woke, the waves had gone black,turning over the maceratedcurd of the ocean bottom, heaving its sludgeonto the beach. Some storm far out, I thought,had ravaged the sea, stirred up its bed,sent the whole mess flying to shore.At my feet I found a grave of starfish,broken and gnarled among the fleshysnipes and heads. Every shade of deathcovered the sand. It looked hopelessin the pale day but for the birds,a congress of gulls, terns, and the rarest plovers,calm for once, satiated, a measure ofthe one law: this sea will claim it all—feed them, catch them, grind their complicated bones.
