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

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