Sleep

I enter willingly
for here the walls are clear
inlets of land
off the coast calling
to sandpipers
digging their beaks
in the sand.

Tides are strange bed fellows.

Curve of the crescent becomes your hip
then your breast.

This is how water moves when there is no glass
no way to contain the body.

The body returns to sand.
I am free
to build my nest
in the places forgotten.