Ghost Crabs
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Day dreams lay broken on the strand
with clams and plastic bottles. Crabs
dance pale as ghosts on salted sand.
No gaudy color ever stabs
the sunset past the water’s reach.
It will be dark quite soon. Loud things
will cease till quiet soothes the beach,
as bathers leave in slumbered wings.
Karen Tellefsen
kat2@mindspring.com