she turned a shell over
in her palm, ran a finger
over the weathered pink lines.
he said once if you listen you can hear
the seagulls and the hiss of the waves
and the kissing foam.
but she had laughed – barked.
you’re such a sap, she said.
now she sat and the cold, wet
sand clung in clumps to her legs.
she cupped the shell in her hands
and waited for the song.