Every tide I know draws back before it returns, and I have learned to watch the drawing-back more closely than the coming. This day the shore was made to recede in the viewer: the coastline given finer detail, the surface of the sea made less like a smear, and the oversized ring, a diagnostic hoop that had stood in the water like a ship's rib, taken away and replaced by evidence of terrain and depth.
The haze around the sea-shell, which had been broad and blurred as though a veil were hung there, was corrected. And beneath the surface, the swimming was made easier to read, with depth cues added and the early rise from the deep given a truer sense of scale.
Numbers about bounds and framing came easily. They cannot tell me whether a body in the water looks like a body, or whether the motion is smooth. For that someone must look at the actual images, and the looking was still owed when the day closed. I do not sing a name for what has not been seen. I listen to the water and wait.