Swimming with mermaids

Raiment of purple silk and gold jewellery, exposed white breasts with light-red nipples, dark brown hair and a crown. Smoke from bronze lamps with embers of juniper and rosemary. A warm evening breeze coincides with a deep breath, then a sudden noise, strangely hollow, from a tree: male doves fighting. Pillows with swirling patterns in gold string scratch and mark the back, wine and oysters are set forth on a tray. Salt water in mother of pearl, sea fragrance, a clacking sound as the hard shell scrapes against a crooked tooth, a pink tongue meets the rosy-grey meat, the colours of the sky above – curved lips close, brushed by warm exhaled air from a pointed nose. Swallowing.

Panic. Cold, firm and scaly, it slides against the stomach as the body slowly turns in the cold water – swirls from abrupt motion stroking the skin – wet hair drags across the face and a soft shoulder rubs the thighs. A rope around the ankle, a point of fixation, strange bodies against the naked feet. Every sense awake, wet and pulsing. Screams or moans trapped in silent bubbles.

Then a great calm, the soul is fluid, underneath the nakedness is mossy rock. A cold landscape – very quiet – pine and spruce forest and a forbidding sea horizon, bluish‑grey against the dark sky. A place of sorrow. Foreign and temporary, someone lurks nearby. Birch bark wrapped around the arms.

Waking in the warm wind, the crown lies on the pillows. The worshippers silent with surprise. Snakes in both hands, the bare feet with gold adornments on hot sand and the smell of sweat and fine ashes.