This crab, this partially buried crab, wet with tide, resides in waiting. A young child will yell out, thrilled at finding a whole one, a live one. The child, who fears the movement of spidery legs, her pinchers, her knowing antennae, will dig her out with driftwood. She flips suddenly, too soon, the child startles back then sees her calm display: the place where the once too too solid flesh lived. Now her hollow husk contains a bit of salty sand, brown flecks of others’ shells. Fear dissipated, the child's cold fingers linger, then turn her back over, leave her fragile body in the tide, her legs still attached and floating, lifelike, protruding eyes surveying all, passive.