In an abalone shell I see opalescent sounds and shapes, sunsets, heron plumes, beach fires. I see smoke compacted into panels of pearl, gems from a hidden beach and the swelling breast-line of that beach. And when you dip it full in the surf And hold it quietly in close-cupped hands until the sand settles, I see your oval face, solemn and sweet with the mystic meeting of woman and sea.
An abalone shell sits at the center of "Souvenir," and the speaker keeps finding more inside it. At first the shell holds colors and light: sunsets, heron plumes, beach fires, smoke turned into panels of pearl. Even sounds seem to shimmer there, which tells you how much the speaker is imagining rather than simply describing. The shell becomes a small keepsake that holds a whole stretch of shoreline.
Then the poem narrows to one person. When "you" dip the shell in the surf and hold it in cupped hands until the sand settles, the speaker sees a face, "solemn and sweet," in the stillness of the water. The shell, the sea, and the woman blur together, and the curve of the beach echoes the curve of her body. The mood is quiet and tender, close to reverent. The title suggests the shell is a memento, and the poem suggests the speaker is really keeping her.