Receding into the distance, a silvery slenderness, turning purple, then black in the dimming light.
I walk to this lady of the woods who stands alone upon this moor. She still claims the light, as light is everything to her.
Her crimson catkins separate like wings, to flutter into the breeze, a swarm of speckled flies. Undressing her tissue skin again and again, she endures revealing her white graceful
between their toes seaweed mushes it comes out of nowhere squeals and screams wet, cold skin meets cold, wet skin, pods pop, bones crack, the sea rolls in