A boy
Walks on the beach
He looks for skipping stones
They all look the same to him, smooth and flat
He begins reaching for them indiscriminately. each one's muffled collision in the bottom of his deep pocket reverberates like teeth that have nothing to chew on.
The rocks
Are motionless
They do not have thoughts like the boy does
Their placement in the boys spacious pocket has no effect on their immortal life
The boy carries as many as he can yet the beach remains just as bountiful, the stones just as numerous.
The water
Is waiting
It beckons in rhythmic swells
Even now its patent motions crumble the land and cast it across the endless floor beneath
It is consumed by its task of guiding everything it touches gently and kindly into the darkness.
The boy
walks forward.