The Weather Sensitive

He breaks his bread and the dark river swells.

Day-thunder claps and he tastes the spinning air.

He jumps for joy before the motion of a storm.

Lightning strikes - he calls it his god.

He harvests scent from the leaves of the tree

(keeps it in a bottle for his mother to use.)

When the full moon rises his skin begins to thrum.

‘Listen’ he says ‘to its melodious sound.’

Now he’s asleep. His parents look in.

(the window left open - a night breeze will brush his hair.)

They leave a barometer, balloons shaped like clouds.

Tomorrow will be sunny, his third birthday.