On the beach I let the ocean bury my feet. 
Sea weed sticking to my legs, 
All the way up my thighs 
Like a type of couture lingerie. 

Walking I picked up shells,
I picked only the prettiest ones 
Pink with green specks, 
White with ridges, 
A gray snail shell, 
A fish bone. 

I looked at all my treasures in the palm of my hand
I thought of how they would look on my bookshelf 
Or in the bowl by my door. 
I crouched down and extended my arm in the waves. 

The water enveloped my hand 
Taking the shells one by one back into itself.