Georgian Bay

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.