Dream yourself a waxing moon
over San Juan’s foggy straits,
the sea reaching out to touch
your silent song calling space
to forget its distance and dance
in your embrace.
Tiny tendrils uncurl in secret shadows,
golden nasturtiums and passion flowers
entwine on garden beds and vine,
while sleeping gulls await the sun
to hunt Sooke’s morning waters.
Dream the tides and anxious winds
that sing in pines and cedars;
breathe life and spirit into wave-rounded stones –
roll them in repetitious surf upon the shores.
Hear the songs of the T’Sou-ke peoples –
Join past with future now.
Dream a peace upon this beauty
that all who hear will sing.
Dream yourself a waxing moon.