We were walking in the sand, our footprints turning to saltwater graves, looking for that which cannot be seen. You swelled up drenching our shoes & leaving the bottoms of our trousers cold and wet. We said, You can’t trust the ocean or capitalism. Both refuse to be contained, always moving. The seagulls orbit in the hope of one of us dropping food. If it happened once, it could happen again. That’s my impression of a seagull. They are either somewhat bad or very good at probabilistic math & chaos functions. Have you noticed that they never get wet? There is a ruined ship offshore. When we were children we could walk on its concrete deck. Storms broke it in chunks and it sinks deeper each year – a slow-motion shipwreck, all concrete and gravity. We run out of conversation topics. Even the seagull loses interest. We’ve strayed too far from the hungry tide. A few grains of sand caught in my wet shoe are rubbing against my skin. I want to hold onto this moment. I want to grab it and put it in my mouth. If it happened once, it could happen again.