“. . .coupling on the dance floor, two women, alone, dancing with babies on their hips, wearing in and through, stitching up the random piece-goods of the night.”

We had travelled to that old coast,
six hours to New Bern, the long ferry
from Cedar Island to Ocracoke and then
to Roanoke where Manteo, for love
of the glittering English, killed Wanchese,
and so began, even from within,
that long, slow clearing.