If I walk too close to the sun,
If I meander on for too long,
If I mend myself,
A patchwork quilt,
And dip it down into the lake,
If I did this thing,
You would wake to find me
Rising towards the moon,
Wearing a necklace with one fang,
From a wolf,
That took me well before;

There is no way to love me.
I haven’t a body to clutch,
That will not tumble into dust,
That will not slip free if gripped,
To the sea, to the rivers
I am running, a selkie
Of terrible dreams,
Of makeshift hairs and legs.

If I am out wandering,
If I am beneath your window,
If I am anywhere on earth,
‘Tis only for the night.
‘Tis only til the sunup.
‘Tis only for a time,
A fogged memory in the making.

If I meet you, know
That I am a stranger.
Nothing less.
Nothing more.
Nothing to come.
Nothing
That ever was.