By Becca Liu Where evening meets a shell-shocked lover is a distortion of light on water. The shell-mottled sidelines are a construct of winter, contouring a melody nestled in return. We hear the clip of persistence, pearly presence of this gargling world. Gulls plummet in circles and low clouds swagger in. I carve the beach to bring you to water, to forge you a one-winged bird in shallower pits. In the low country, winters are not enough. Heaving seabeds dry to salt. Slowly you peel the skins off a grapefruit, fingers clinging to the cottony pith.