She likes her hair when it rains

Strands pressed to her face like seaweed remind her of spelling her name in the sand with small foot prints

Tiny feats protected by the breakwater and the buoyed net in the paddling area

Her parents' spontaneous fairy tales about what might live outside that net probably just kept her from getting lost

Real Monsters have faces

But, the rain is warm, soft and sweet

Distilled Presence holding her close

One proton, one electron

Star-stuff fermented into water

And, she can almost see the tiny particles welling up between her naked toes

Filling in her puddle foot prints

As she dances down the curves of her name again