The old crab
a house, like the shell of some strange ocean dwelling creature,
never-changing, only thickening, intensifying with a perfume of years,
as salty as the thick mist that coats the sea at midnight.
A visitor approaches and the defenses go up
grasping and pinching she tucks her possessions
tightly to her, peering over the top with wild eyes
that see in all directions, guarding and protecting
what’s left of her life.