How Does One Place Title When One Does Not Know If The Title May Be Misguided?

The sardines are plentiful; fleeing most likely into a harbor of half raised hands. Bottle nosed are the intelligent echoes vacant from depths, now locked with rotten rubber stiffness of tiny teeth on the shore with plentiful explanations. This nebulous world is intentional. Hazy I stood, nearly a year ago, with my hand's clasped within another and another, chained across the sand as a bay copter flew overhead. Misguided eradicated from language, as the center has vanished from the pin cushion.