To flail or to parry
truly matters not,
to deflect the blow and tarry
Is all you’ve fucking got.
He took the shells from in his pocket
each one a face within a locket,
a precious moment shaped by time
then cast ashore to make a rhyme.
He placed them back where no light fell
bereft, unseen, they were but shell.
Then so his heart did darken too
for every one he hid was you.