There Yet

Sleep is horizontal.
It’s rarely really deep.

You tack and row, a craft
That stays in sight of shore.

Sometimes you lean over
And if the waves are small

You may see the ruins
Of an earlier shore,

But you never get there,
Not even in a storm.

Sleep capsizes in sight
Of land and the capsized

Can be seen at all hours,
Wading back in to shore.