An Ageing Inspiration

Little crabs their toes scrawled upon the sand Meaningless patterns to my eyes Yet before the water like a fairy's wand Leave nothing but the blankness of surprise The little crustaceans had purpose in the random patterns Yet I wonder now if they made it to their destinations While the fated footsteps without glowing lanterns Callously direct a spurious crowd's unintentions Or the shells could just be this tidal destiny Now stalking an old man, frightening memory. And I had always exalted above history My ability to tell like Aeneas my story. If the crab comes back nothing will be here To say it was here before. It's neither tides nor waves that wipe things bare It is the wind smoothing out the wrinkles from the shore. My mind too like crab's feet Stares wondrously at the blank sheet.