I heard you were that boy who stole secrets from children
And sold them to the stars
in hopes of absolution.
Someone once told me that you sell the best hope,
Cheap and up-lifting.

So I came to you in search of virtue and you spoke softly,
but your words fell around me like autumn –
You stood at the end of the alley with dirt on your shoulders and told me
that I was searching for a whisper in a city of voices.
Impossible.

The air seemed to wrap around you like a second skin,
bending to fit the contours of your brutal honesty and filling in the places
that had broken off. But it was clear as day, son,
that you were searching,
searching for it, too.

Because I heard you were the boy who trusted your innocence to
the birds held in your hands
Tell me, did you cry when they flew away?