A black crab scrabbles onto our dock,

its back to the ocean. The tips

of each of its eight legs

en pointe like a dancer’s,

carefully testing the grain and texture

of the wood, considering direction.

Only the legs in motion, the body

a stillness at the center.

 

I’m see this only because

I too am perfectly still.

If I so much as sigh,

Pouf! This crab will disappear.