Otter's First Love

Otter's first love was not
a rough wave,
soft fingers, strong wrists—
not the shrill call
of gulls
moving against cliffs—
not the smooth sweep
of stone in paw,
the cracking of the oyster—

floating on his back,
he watched the boats
come in to land—
might he hoist a bright sail
over his belly too
and feel it tauten
in the wind?