A Hermit Crab

Here on the shore our sordid chronicle
awaits rebirth as seashell-shards to fuse,
to transform into something comical
and bright: an odd collage, we’re neither news
nor history this morning, only stories
that intersect to make each other squirm.
Completely earned but never claimed, all glories
are beached around us, just expired, still warm
amid a field of driftwood on the sand.
Defeat, or victory? Here’s one who knows,
scurrying along water’s edge to stand
beside the newest shell that can enclose
its helpless form in beauty never planned
yet perfectly aligned. I’m one of those.

Born on a Train

Early arrival, jostled
amid hinged corridors,
steel sliding doors and sparks

along the track, then swaddled
in glaring light, you blinked
and wailed, and it wailed back.

It never stopped for you
unless a stop was planned,
a gulp of evening air,

only enough to know
that all was on the schedule
and on the way to doing.

No wonder there’s no rest
for you: motion is peaceful,
stillness unsettling,

the plaintive airborne whistle
a song that seals up night
by breaking it apart.

Wakeful at dawn, you step
out of one tilting thought
into the next and fasten

its heavy door behind you.
Serpentine tracks unwind
and groan into the morning.