A promise is a debt ...

“Once a boy believes a dream –

one itching hope – his shell is gone.”

“Then how,” a girl asks the moon,

“does he survive, thin pink, upon

that sharded lamp-light maze where

we call – waning, as dark as not –

'I'm this-and-that beyond,'

suspending sights that can't be caught?

He leaps; he falls – for our throats are black!”

“No@, dear. We shine in his head –

not tight-irised Full-Truths, but

wide-pupiled Soon-Truths. So instead

of leaving his husk to a cold night's

song, 'What if 'what-if''s will never be?',

we move his cut, sealing skin to weep:

'You're mostly dark; I like the part I see.'

Boys belong beyond their shells,

like seeds presently unopened –

innards bare-limbed, open-grinned,

ready to reach. @Feed them hope and

draw them out into the light

Where shadows cross (where dreams run free).

Draw him out, just as you are,

And let him see what he will see.”