an old broken rowboat

lies battered on the shore,

its oars rising and falling

with the pulsating waves,

and in its belly lies

the bones of a seaman

lost to the decadent winds,

skull bleached white with

permanent half-toothed grin.

feisty seagulls perch on the

boat's edge, seeking clams

and mussels to peck at.

the soft roaring waves,

solemn susurration of sound,

the whoosh of earth's heartbeat.

the cove contrives to

let this man rest without

inconvenience, his journey

ending with a soft fade,

to be found decades later

by dumb teenagers.