Low tide. A cloud is moving
over sand - blue shadow
washed with sound, draining
into holes, where mangrove
roots can be seen to copy,
vaguely and hugely, the legs
of what is advancing
and diminishing - segmented,
plated, defensive, legion.
The cloud gone, beside
each hole, clusters of tiny balls,
like abrasive hail, or rainbeads
evaporation has bypassed
in the interests of symmetry
and the poetry of excavation.
by Anthony Lawrence
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| Soldier crabs at Merimbula © Jennifer Phillips |
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