instinct

ghost crabs

scuttled beneath the

cover of darkness,

evading our fingers as they

danced their rivers 

of white upon the sand

i watched them

wondering what motivated them

to forage in the dust, and what

were they looking for?

i think i found a piece of myself in

those night ocean breezes,

in fragments of moon silver breathing;

and in the faces of those crabs

persistent in their endeavors to find

whatever they were searching

for �" i wonder if they ever found it

because i know that i'm still looking inward

and outward for the source of my

scuttling dreams for the motivation that

breathes and beacons me forward

in it's light; perhaps, it's just impulse dancing

thoughts into being, but i'd like to think

it's more than instinctive movements

fingering it's way through the sand.

- linda m. crate