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.
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