Is this an inner body
or an outer body experience?
- if I need my teardrop to keep floating mid-air
for fear it might reach the snow on the ground,
where this white tiger left its imprint on my soul, on my mind

I’ve always wished for an early spring
and for the summer never to end,
and yet where could I find more candour
than nesting into my sealskin, like an Inuit woman
- or flesh, like a selkie bathing
at the beginning and at the end of the world?

I’m not longing for flowers,
but for thin ice, translucent and shapeshifting in cold water.