Byssus (Sea Silk)

by Michael Smith

Out on the crumbs of Sardinia

in islands of ungraspable skill,

lies the dying art of byssus still --

Weaving garments out of hard clam spit,

like writing reems with merely water --

Poseidon, should he be an auter.

A lemon gold, lost for countless years

these cloths of a rarity ev’r rare,

oft mixed with silk because a’ cheaper ware --

Mainly gloves, as if t’were known we must

clutch the skill within Rosetta’s lines --

The ruling classes did with large fines.

Weavers just getting a gram per dive,

Now its disappearing once again,

Into the bahr of history’s bin.