One must have a mind of the sea to regard the waves and sandy shores of the salted winds encrusted with shells and past souls.

And have been one with the ocean to behold the sea glass's aquamarine lustre. The encompassing hues of blue highlight the luminescent bacterium.

Swimming in the deep torrents lie miserable souls who jumped overboard, mesmerised by the blues.

Of the July sun, and not to think of any misery sung by the sirens, I was told through the wistful wind in the sound of the shells and conches.

Which is the sound of the waves full of the same wind. That blows through the murky water.

For the listener, dweller, and lover who resides by the shore

And nothing of themselves beholds that of the sea, nothing that is not there, and nothing that is.