Dear Talented Musician,

Broken butterfly wings cling to and sing from
the fabric you’ve use to patch the holes in your heart.

The souls of your bare feet
share beats with your holy heart
and they dance like shooting stars
on the rooftops of love and loss.
                          No one moves like you do.

I see childhood when I look in your eyes,
and the shine from your smile
writes raw across my mind's sky
in a language I was born to read.

I can't help but smile back
when I look between the lines
and find all the little things I lost
in the fire.

Things like crayons.

and face paint.

Like wide-eyed excitement.

I wanna jump up and down again
       and mean it.

I wanna pretend to fly again,
       and believe it.