I am walking by the shore. Ahead and above me are the seagulls. They fly, they circle beneath the sky. They cry, for they are waiting to greet the sailors returning home. I hear them. I listen. Beside me, a crab ambles along. It is black and its shell is hard. You know how crabs walk? They scramble on their many feet in a sideways manner. So his walk forms a trajectory that moves towards me and beyond, onto the sea. It laps up the waters. The waves push him back onto the sand, and then pull him along to their midst. The sea covers up my feet and the waters wrench away the spaces: between my toes and the sand on my skin.
The sea is with me everyday. I put a shell to my ear and the waves rush and the wind blows. I don’t see the crab any more. Perhaps, it has gone on to another beach; beside many beings of its kind. I see them. From a distance, they look like black spots moving on the sand, playing with the waves. They have a nest somewhere.
I look up at the night sky. I’ve been told he is there.