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Cape Cod Motel

On this gray dawn,

the dunes are scrubbed with moss,

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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

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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