They say, 'She walks in the water; her whistles silence 
the day. She helps the smugglers turn their crimes into 
American dimes into Canadian dollars, opium, and haze. At 
the foot of Woodward, there's a condition or two to shade 
the custom's review: all the young women overdressed in 
their long-coats allow us to drink on their wine. Our 
eyes turn to glass and shine on blind. So I've had wine 
and wine and wine and more wine tonight, and tonight I 
saw their world. And I am so far from it now, I'm 
collapsing like the lighthouse in the gales of 1838. She 
takes musicians to Bois Blanc. She takes the dancers 
there too and at the end of the long nights, she takes 
them back by lamplight but until then she stays clear out 
of view. Before we dock at Richmond there's a hidden tax 
of merit and all the boaters inherit one dollar for every 
Lincoln brought in. We exchange them their Loonies and 
unwind. Our eyes turn to glass and shine on blind.