That sleepy winter on the Cape,
we sucked glacial pebbles.
Sea-wracked waves dragged from the sands
the porcelain arm of a retired doll.

The clapboard village kept its ghosts
at bay in the crook of the bay.
The seafood shoppe in sight of the sea
hired a forty-pound lobster as its mascot.

The old iambic roar raged, sands blowing
through shattered archways, over toppled
columns, the hardpan of a Roman road.
So much of the modern lay before us,

we could not see it coming.