Treecreeper

All I knew was it was hot. The kind of hot that stifled breath, the kind that dried sweat before it reached your skin and left you a thirst that couldn’t be slaked.

Each breath I take,
each sound I hear,
each smile I see
is a gift
direct from your heart.

I dream.
I dream of his face.
I dream of the blood
that trickled in his eyes.
I dream of the crowd,

This is for my son Storm
who is the light of my life.

His eyes were a cruel, cold blue set deep beneath bushy eyebrows. His pale face was set in an expression of triumph.

Tiny or tall,
their magick is chaos
childlike and free
as the breeze
that whispers
through the trees.

I press my ear to a shell
and hear the voice of Dolphin.