I’m hidden where land meets the sweeping tide,
At Sharpness Point, where secrets hide.
A bottle I am, with something within—
A thread to the prize, so give it a spin.
I’m not what I seem, I go down not through,
Like a wormhole twist to something new.
Tug with care, don’t yank or race,
Then tuck me back in my hiding place.
What am I?