A shore story
A wave washes in, undermining my step.
I jump aside, the breaker rushes
to fill my footprints, foam popping,
tumbling small translucent crabs
and stranding them in my wake.
I drag a toe across a ridge
to cut a channel, oblivious
of scale, and cause a whirlpool instead.
Pelted by a sand/wash avalanche
they go under, in straight leg alarm.
I stare, grave as Gulliver, 
at the murky pool—as twirling
pinwheels break the calm
and body surf to meet the tide
where gulls wait to pick them off.


Virginia Conn