Her breath rose from her body in swirls of ash. The air wheezed from her as you would expect the air would travel through a burnt husk of a body. Each night she burned, crumbling into herself, waking in a bright fury with the morning sun. Some called her a phoenix, a goddess of the volcano, Pelée.
I was a lowly stream, trembling, trickling in her wake. The heat of her caused my innards to boil, and the creatures would leave me. The earth heaved with her breath, the tumbling rocks rolling, the sparks floating away with the grace of dandelions. I circled her bed, flowing ever downward, unable to rest.
Coils of billowing clouds floated above her body. They wavered and danced, bidding farewell to the island. I twisted around the forest, clawing away at the valley. She was yawning, deep into her dreams, the length of her cape stretching outward. The glowing tapestry raced me to the sea. I would not lose.