Take me to the shore. Let me see the sea. Landlocked, I daydreamed while reading Homer and staring at Winslow Homer paintings of the Maine coast in a book promising much, yet keeping its counsel, on a table in a St. Louis library, anchored, to me. How sturdy and solid the wood. A chair scrapes the floor.
Sounds are still there.
Like the catamaran lightly tethered, echoes of ephemera of a Hamptons weekend 30 years ago. Sounds are the last to go. You can hear the boats, still. No sounds below. Just the ping-ping in the submarine movie.