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COTTAGE LANE

weathered windows

scratch shut

 

a screen door

slides gently

like a morning

foot into a slipper

 

sea breezes

and familiar voices

cross easily

through the porch

 

a fog horn

and captains bell

send signals

into the dark

 

smooth stones

from the point,

painted with

names and faces,

lay gathered at

the center of the

table