Hidden behind the rock
I find the soft abandoned selkie skin.
The fur is wet with drops of brine,
and the land’s fresh dew
on the whiskers, which lie smooth
across the folds of
I pull it from the mossy hole,
up from the bed of smooth, worn
and watch the dark fur
in the sea-grey light.
I turn to climb
away from the sea
and the gulls cry witness to my theft.
Curtains of foam wash the shore
to the rhythm of the waves
a mirror to the silver lines
in the shifting sea
of slate grey sky.
They stroke the border
between earth and sea.
gray, black and brown
tumble beneath the surf.
There are footprints on the beach,
The waves wash away the hollows from
and the dent of her heel.
She was never there
for all the people know.
But the ocean is salty because of her
and the breakers understand the pain
of brushing a world they cannot touch.
The house rests quiet as I come.
The windows’ glass is buried beneath
and sea salt blown in on the breeze.
This place is locked
away from the water,
and the ocean calls for the skin,
turning and striking the shore.
The wind howls for it,
for the chance to slip
from ocean to earth
and land to sea
to cross the shifting border
and move between the worlds.