call back the black tree

up there on the horizon
in a field
silhouetted against the sky
wild wind blowing
tree bending
whipping back.

beneath hovers
bent over
a little boy
lost above
cold and hungry
green with illness
cut from falls.

the moon looks down
one eyed myopic
it seems
to help.
dim distant glow
warms boy’s heart
and makes him remember
once he had a mother
who kissed him tenderly
and even a father
who held him safe

long gone
and alone now
with the moon brought
dancing a whirling moth-like creature
twisting in the breeze
yet somehow capable
of landing directly
upon the child’s
quivering pallid brow

the touch awoke
within the child
a buzz a hope
of make believe
that everything
would be okay.

the quivering stops
and sleep arose
like a warm quilt
within and without
and in that moonlit
the boy dies a cold
and cheerless death
to decay
and disappear
in bracken, moss, and
distant timeless heath.