Driving from the beach
backseat seashells clink: something
alive among bones?
Hermit crab wriggles.
I glance in rear-view mirror;
he cocks one eye at me.
His other eye hunts
for cover under bathing suits.
Then he disappears.
For months I search: no crab,
though sand and sea smell remains.
a stray flip-flop found.
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