Selkie Song (Revisited)
I woke saltless,
broke beneath a moon-
rise without my chest swell,
without scales in my teeth.
There is no sand to fling a trail,
so I lay beside him, drunk for want
of soaking barrel spills
and crests that overtake me.
Seven years past I hung my pelt.
It swayed to the thrum of wind
against our window. An artificial wake, he said. A rockabye squall.
Now fingerprints and dried stems dust the sill.
Now I can tie a shoe.
Now our teapot’s lost its singing cap.
Now my skin molders in the trunk.
I long for bottomless sleep:
a bed made
of kelp that reaches for light.
I look up
how moonsand might feel
against a furred belly.