The salty water swallowed me.
Captive to a power beyond myth,
I spun until my shell smoothed.

Coughed back out, I scuttled
from sand to hard ground
swept clean by dry wind
and hunkered down inside
my blind house, body armor,
by appearance, a rock.

Inside, reprieved from windows,
my safe edges were still haunted
by dull vibrations, constant reminders
of the pounding sea.

Sleep freed my watch.
Days or months later, I woke
from a dream the ground shifted,
releasing worms that wiggled
through web-feet.

Hungry, I peek. Someone whittles.
Woodwinds serenade.
I slip inside before she comes forth
and strokes my sun-baked roof.