They are the only ones that catch my eye. I am the only one interested in them. Five unique rocks with smooth surfaces and corners rounded like knuckles. Five rocks that don't belong here but do not seem foreign. Five extravagant rocks dropped carelessly within open space. From the dock, I see them, but everybody else moves on.
Their significance is silent. They created molds in the ground beneath them. They sink down within the ages of sediment but their faces still soak up sun from the clear blue sky.
They thrive on nothing but seem to vanish from existence with each wave crashing to shore. With each wave they seep into the lakes years. Wsh, wsh, wsh, wsh, as the waves crash. They sink.
When I am gloomy and down in mood, when I am between a rock and a hard place, then it is I who looks at the rocks. When there is nothing else to look at on the coast. When there is nothing else to look at on the shore. Five who see despite the beach. Five who see but do not seek anything. Five whose only reason is to be wet and glossy.