The Horseshoe Crab
We claimed its struggle as our own: its legs tatted an invisible shawl; its telson
ratcheted up then slapped the sand; a dull
auger: self-burial by small degrees.
Sanderlings sniffed out the advancing surf; a turnstone greeted pebbles with delight; a larger bird with red-rimmed eyes took flight; seaweed latched to the sand like just-healed scars.
We gave it an emotion as it made
its turn then lingered on our shadows, dumb and lengthening toward a blunt red tidal scum and then, eventually, to its own sea.