Once there was a woman
who gave birth to a seal
white as haar, furred like a glove.

It slid into the world
in a rush of kelp and brine,
moon-eyed, cold as starlight.

She wrapped it in the sea’s green
till it grew warm,
unbending from her

a slow form uncurling
finding pools and holes in the tide,
rocking itself gently under.

Now, she dreams
out on a shallow ledge,
covered in a net of stars

singing to her child
with the slow, full breathing
of the ocean;

and from the hidden edges of the deep,
a brown moan

lulling her to sleep.​