Open eyes in brightness; Dilated, but responsive, Blue as the sky above them. Pain is gone, but the fear lingers. Shadows in the woods Dancing under the sun. Light drops through Peppering the forest floor. The man is alive. Land rises and rolls, Coiling toward the bay. The hills give way to the shore, And there lies Wegwagonock, Tucked against the sea. The salty air cleans the lenses Brought on by the breeze, Carried by the tides below. The land is alive. A flagpole counterweight Swings about in the night. The metal clanks and echoes; Rampant through the streets, Brought on by the fierce wind. The oncoming storms Of a distant hurricane. There is no other sound. The wind is alive. Quiet is the town at night. No one stirs, set to stir at dawn. Windows dark and empty, But the streetlights pierce the cloud. The amber glow flickers off the street, Witness to the particles Of a million quiet souls, And the sidewalk screams. The town is alive.