The Kill Devil Hills

You are smitten with the idea
Of collecting the artifacts of ghosts-
The little things that wash up
From the graveyard of the Atlantic
And fit into your pocket.
When we came to the table
We described ourselves
As warriors but we came dressed
As pall bearers.
The nods from the natives,
As we joined the procession
Of the local dead,
Made us aware of our status.
We were accepted
Into the last place on earth-
Its shoreline receding
Like the wears of an old man-
Further and further still
Revealing the warped landscape
Of the Kill Devil Hills.