is the oyster’s wound–
A rough, hard obstruction
Intrudes into its tender body.
Month by month, year after year,
Wrapped in layer upon adhesive layer,
It becomes round, glistening, smooth, glossy.
Crystalized pain, a tear shed by the sea,
Yet all the mundane treasure it!
I sense that it still wears the salt smell of the ocean,
That this glistening teardrop bears
The grief of sun and moon, stars and clouds.

translated by Fang Dai, Dennis Ding, & Edward Morin