On Eriskay

Niall Campbell

She met me at the fence. A kelpie 

 who'd stayed too long in this horse form, 

 she mouthed the sugar on my palm, 

 and when I slapped her barrel flank 

 the goose moor stiffened with a sea 

 perfume. Gulls gathered on the stoop. 

What a way to be seen out: confused 

 among the pearlwort and the fallow. 

 Her beach songs, like the recalled taste 

 of bucket milk, inched from her tongue. 

 Dusk grew behind the house. I watched 

 her drink the moon from a moon-filled trough.