Aperture

It was the way the steel beam writhed and cracked the stone pillar that painted this town. The way the mermaid drove forcefully from the windowsill freely trapped-focused forward, the erect pole. The plastic rocks. The immense windows and stationary barrels.
Nothing the sea said made any sense here. Anything of value was borrowed by the wind's chosen path through the trees. Bent towards where the sun would be. The poor chap on the peer, ought to face this way.