He borrows his house, as I borrow mine.
We are strangers where we live.
This little crab makes me think
I would crawl around the world with my belongings on my back,
drag my life behind me every day, to live
in the same world of open sand, empty shells, brilliant blue.
In hand, the hermit crab lives up to the name,
a shell closed with claws
but a warm breeze of breath will bring him out.
Set on the shore, he works a way through humps of white sand,
broken branches of coral, sun-bleached beer cans,
human footprints.
Life is kind. Move on. Carry what you can.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I love the thought you put into this metaphor. It's fresh and original. I can especially related to the 2nd line. I often feel like a stranger in my world. I like the the first 2 stanzas the best. Very nice work.