She is Queen of Georgian Bay
standing in the swell of the lake,
bones white against the churn--
she has the sympathy of the sun.
I wade in to join her, and the waves
crash down and nearly tear the strap
from her fine shoulder. Where can
I hide my hunger on the public
beach? For you I will be a swimmer
stroking your hands in the waves.
For you I will be the wet sand
clinging inside your bathing suit.
For you I will be the final wave,
the biggest one that makes you
shout, “Oh God, here it comes.”
Till the riptide pulls me slowly
away to the lee of Georgian Bay.