After a while,
we’ll forget how many times we’ve looked into the same sky.
Our eyes always search to lift the little one with the chiseled cheek bones
and the stuffy nose.
We want him to grow up with simple song lyrics;
the one’s so profound and useful.
He’ll build a wall so slowly.
Lacing the bricks together with ivy vines and late blossom roses,
he’ll hum the words we meant to say.
He wants to be alone with a secret window too small for expectations,
too big for what should be.
The angels play his hair in strands that tangle in ever-present breaths.
He wants to be free too.