it is a story of a child
told by the shuffling of leaves
caressed by a breezy kind of voice.
she listens every time, eyes closed
chubby fingers with crooked nails
on a sunburnt brown as warm
as her breath, as sweet as the tang
of caramel on the tip of her tongue.
against its stiff trunk she
loosens her grip and falls
enclosed in its gnarled, bushy arms.
she traces her fingers
on the roughness of the skin
on the bumps that are scars
and the holes that swirl and
hollow into a hidden treasure box.
the tree is full
of miracles
adventures
in between
the thickness
of a leaf
where light travels
and pauses
and recedes.
the tree is full
of secrets
she doesn’t
trust anyone
to keep.