Don’t Make Me

When I told you the crab on the beach was dead you asked me what’s
dead

I said This is his shell
but you must have heard soul

a yearlong misunderstanding
a summer later unable to sleep you said No,

you told me the body’s the part that goes,
the soul stays. And I said No,

you have it backwards, the shell stays
and becomes the beach again. I waited for you to ask after the soul,

where the crab goes. Practiced in my head an inconsolable hour
I don’t know or No-

where, scraping my mortal voice like bright meat
when suddenly you shot up from the covers

done crying. So
the going is forever?