Trawling For Sea Bones

The sandy beach thins into a wash of rounded pebbles where the tide licks, before that a muddy ribbon trickles briny trinkets surged up from the oceans bottom. Here be the bones of tiny seahorse dragons, and bloated macroscopic marine algae, their seaweed green strands inflated until the sun bakes their pale upturned pods into pyrite beads. Fractured mollusk shells splinter the broken claws of minuscule crustaceans - all the natural flotsam of debris trawling waves. A sculptured driftwood expressed into mythic forms anchors its art where the wind combs. Sometimes coins, both new and old, surface to be pocketed once more. Obscure metallic treasures knuckle and poke-mark the shoreside with their unanswered questions. I have no questions, walking the dawn light I am a shipwreck, my mind roaming along the shores edge. My heart a seagulls cry, a wilderness call that keeps me fishing for new depths of a fathomless self.