He must clear the air first and foremost 

With the deepest part of his soul, 

Reaching so much inside himself 

That he almost swallows his words whole.

His presence is known by triangle skies

Sharpened teeth and kind eyes, 

His voice has never been quiet, 

For that he bursts with hidden pride.

He stands with his hip cocked to the sky

As he forgets each face as it passes him by,

The boy who hears angels’ joyful cry  

And breaks their songs of faithless flight.

The boy who thinks he is right,

Who has only ever stolen the line

That separates lips from life.

The heavens love his gentle soul

They blow his trail full of halos,  

For him and him alone 

The sun beams down hope.