Like the mixing salt and fresh water
making it not favorable for either species,
we have come to a brackish place —
marsh grass obscuring our view, and we,
like young crabs, hiding from imagined predators.
Reading in circles by the lake watching
a lone bee settles on a puddle
birds using the shore as a bath
while a stream flows into the lake
which drains by river to the sea.
Like black-shelled turtles emerging from underground tunnels,
they hide their heads from the rain,
scurry to their assigned dry places,
shake off water, disappear – but for one
blue shell that separates to find ocean.