Nickay3111, "Lincoln City Tidepools, Oregon," 2014
I crouch down at the edge of the brine-bower, hold still as I can, watch as those small jeweled things go about their business. I’m ignorant of their names, how their lives entwine, although the shape of their scour is familiar. But it’s no fugitive tinaja, eggs locked up tight til the rains come. This is where moon and sun swell every belly, pull tangleweed and sea lettuce into the hole where crabs no bigger than my thumbnail gather for salad and sex. At this far edge of the West, the pulse beneath my skin is also a tide; here, where Poseidon-by-other-names watches his billion sea-foam children, and watches me.