The pen is heavy in my hand,
its shadow is a monster on the wall.
I finish another letter
and set it next to the weeping willow tree.
It disappears when I reopen my eyes.
Rain polka dots my hair
and the sky and I cry together.
My hand is tugged and I glance down
at a red haired child,
eyes the color of the ocean.
I hold her face in my hands
as if I were holding my heart.
Words appear on her forehead.
The rain washes away the second word
before I can read it.
She is gone when I start to speak.
The pen is cold in my hand.
This letter is for her.
I leave the letter where she last stood,
holding out my arms.