Clouds beach themselves on the mountain
as cold rain rises from the grey
mammals of storm.
Slow and slender, she descends
to earth possessing
anything natural or human.
She soaks through my hair, my skin
infusing the bones with her song
of sea and winter birds
stuffed between the large stones
hungering for rest. The wind calling
for high tide and full moon. A flood
that weakens those stubborn things
beyond moss and barnacle. Its waves
washing off what splinters and laments.
Note — In Scottish/Irish legends, the selkie is a mythical being part seal and part woman who often sheds her sealskin to become mortal at certain times of the day or year.