The holts are nearly always close to the sea
In fallen boulders, old ruins, in cliffs
Or at the top of a stack, like this
High above the sea
A safe place for cubs
I wait, tense
Then disappointed
She leaves her spraint
To notify others have a visit
The holts are evenly spaced
About five hundred yards apart
And are for the use of any otter who passes by
With or without cubs
I love you