–Springsteen

 

 

The wind has wandered north,

the waves retreated from the tilt-a-whirl.

 

On a sandy strand outside Grace

Tabernacle a dog barks at its cross,

 

blown into the mud.  Through

the cracked glass of a pair

 

of half-hinged French doors,

a woman watches surf lap

 

at the rollercoaster aswim in the flow

and ebb of the Jersey shore.