The windscreen makes the scene a postcard: The swollen sea pulsing in and out, a heartbeat crowned By teacup boats, teetering on a tray. Seagulls circle around a granite giant; Stagnant in the sand, it drowns. Expired vouchers wilt in the wind of the stalling engine While bottle-cap limpets cling and rattle, Coating a quarry of empty cans and receipts. A boy presses a shell to his ear; Salt and sand pour through the open window. Cut the engine. A sandpaper breeze Scrubs my skin into a smooth pebble. I take my place among the bones Of cuttlefish and silent stones.