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.