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.