The sea is three nets, a lone fishing boat in the sun, and men in waders. Will shore leaving dreams gather in search of yesterday? An old man on top of the horizon waves till inspiration is ashore. Two boys without conversation tug in the sea's imagination, a line with a million sparklings rests on the anchored sand. The boat is in the deep again, past an earlier waiting, close to what catches dreams. Fish leap from net to net, enter the shore by shouts of joy. I wonder? Where's yesterday? The old man's still the sky wave.