Sea-Drinking cities have a moon-struck air;
Houses are topped with look-outs; as a dog
Looks up with dumb eyes asking, dormers stare
At stranger-vessels and swart cunning faces.
They are touched with long sleeping in the sea-born moon;
They have heard fabled sails slatting in the dark,
Clearing with no papers, unwritten in any log,
Light as thin leaves before the rough typhoon;
Keels trace a phosper-mark,
To allow old ocean-drowned green places.
—JOSEPHINE PINCKNEY, Sea-Drinking Cities