Radiator creaks like the aching hull of an ancient ship.
The sea pulled across and alongside its' mouth by drivers yearning sleep.
The grey provides the sea, but shows no interest, has no tell.
So the swell ebbs, flows, subsides - unsure until it goes.
There is but one view, if you can make it out through the mist, of other towers, masts stiff, breaking through the surf.
No one else seems to care to look, nor try to break the scene.
And ships stay still like rocky cliffs until they're worn away.