A team of sailors surround a fountain. Early March breaks away like an iceberg. "Away with February!" one man proclaims. But it's still cold in the air. A few make somber conversation about the rust. Scattered coins remind them of buoys that didn't save. "Lay waste to words!" proclaims another. He hadn't said a word 'til then, for his left hand contained every word worth saying. A helpless memorandum, but why can't he let go? It's still cold in the air.