on the precipice of the sea
red hair twisted in rage and despair
my selkie weeps into the sea.
eyes devoid of spring,
only barren winter laying
over the irish green.
the fin folk call her name
singing of the comfort and release that the sea will give her,
and the escape that she desires.
spray stings her face,
whether of sea or tears, her eyes leak both
heart snapping, bloodless from leaking wounds.
skin in hand, tightly embraced, the storm rages.
and she sways in the gale, indecision and
skin clutched in hand,
longing to slip into it,
and back into the healing embrace of the sea
my selkie weeps.
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