Stargazy Pie

Bug-like, antennae point downwards,
I must have had a home there once —
I know and remember —
with a way to breathe,
though being dead on a platter
limits memory or regret.
But to die here, I would rather be part
of a stargazy pie, looking up to
a sky —the gunnels
and seals talked while digging
from the burrows next to me,
things are brethren,
how I should have died —
full of light and dry, more
things I don’t understand.
This is my red shell, no
longer green of algaeic splendor,
no longer live, but like marked
like poison
I float above my carcass,
limbs cracked and discarded,
wondering if the sky can absorb
me as I once absorbed my
molted shell, to create
a greater whole.