To Sleep by Georgian Bay

The open casements by my bed

speak the sound of the Georgian shore,

when the moonless night,

blinds black my open eyes,

and I can only listen

to the water’s edge,

on the nearby  stones and sand,

saying,

Swoosh to sleep now,

Swoosh to sleep now.

In the whispering shush,

like the small waves,

seeping back from shape,

I softly curl away,

into my own seeping dream.

To float below the surface ripples,

spent by the windswept crashes

of the foamy fist’s thundering pound,

splashing white on the gray gone day,
wet over the sand skin,

I am the blood flood shore.