She is wind
rushing through the grass
an arc of sound in my ear;
Her laughter is painted on the hills
like a handprint.
There is a bloom in her heart;
a bloody rose that releases
a fragrance of sunlight, dirt, and warm skin.

She is wild.
She runs like fire;
skips like a spark.
Her beautiful cry pierces--
I feel it in my bones.
There is weight in her form.
She moves with a ripple of muscle;
with a shiver of tendon;
a hypnotic grace.