Cape Cod Motel
On this gray dawn,
the dunes are scrubbed with moss,
their green birthmarks from the sea.
Horizon's haze blurs the rim of sea and sky.
Pregnant with sea-breath,
gusts rush through our louvered windows.
Blessed be louvers,
that split ocean breath into whine and whistle,
that whittle and sliver the sighs of the sea
down to room-size,
where we dream, shuttered in sleep,
our wild dreams
tossing inside our heads.
(c) Copyright 2000. The Christian Science Publishing Society