Crab Grass by Johnny Immel A great blue heron glides over East Moriches, thick crabgrass and large drops of dew. Dandelions and junipers push up and up in that fallow field; I see the seeds of summer floating by. Waves roll over smooth white pebbles, marbles cackle in water. Black seaweed, yellow bayside beach smells like salt. Exposed roots and clay swing in the tides. Silver fish pass noiseless in the shallows, mussel clings to sea lettuce; a clam feels like a stone beneath my heel, or a mysterious box of treasures tucked in mud. Then a crab crawls over my sister's foot and she shrieks (as a boy, I laughed at this). Buoy sticks lead to a warm beach, home creek nestled in the cove.