A Counterintuitive Green

The oyster shell in the dirt
Of the planter with dead stems
But nothing growing in it,

Dug up, opens easily,
Its emptied innards wetly
Green. Photosynthesis seems

Unlikely in a closed shell
Buried in a pot of dirt
Where no other green’s growing,

But there it is, slimy green,
Like rocksnot in the shallows,
Like artificial dye green,

Brighter than the lawn or leaves,
Ferns and mosses liquefied—
Lurid, living absinthe green.

Place the opened shell in sun.
Leave it out all night in rain.
In the morning, there’s no green.