Skeletons of salty vagrants are swept to shore like so many bones on the beach. They clutter together in cadaverous piles that bleach under the sun. Sea-scavengers are we, delighting in this death. We choose our seashells with care and hide them in our pockets. Only the best of the dead things will we take home. We burn the driftwood for our fires. We stack the sun-dried branches for our shelters. We collect the sand-dollars and starfish, the remnants of the living, to decorate our houses. We reuse the once-lost and find beauty.