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