“Fire streams of orange racing through the rivers of gray purple, touching the silver gold sky, white ribbon of silk lightly and brightly hovers below. The clouds rip like a child tearing a piece of cotton candy apart. A shadow tree stands alone black as the midnight sky. I want to jump up and touch the fluffy mist of clouds. I want to climb up on top of the dark tree and fly with the guardian angels, the sun is raising gently and shines rays through the floating images of fire streams” Setsuna (set-sue-n-ah) says in her soft velvet voice explaining the sky I can no longer see.

“That was beautiful, Setsuna” Noah says in his American, Australian mixed accent.He turns facing straight ahead in the horizon, smiling wide, it was my second poem I wrote that day for him. “Write me another or read another” Noah adds turning to me but stares above me forgetting I’m smaller than he remembers.

“About what Noah I told you about the sunrise and the park what else is there”? I answer shyly. He always wants to hear more.

“Read one about me” He says boldly and proudly. “I know you have one of me already written” He laughs lightly.

“Y-you want me to read about you” I almost fainted with embarrassment.

“Yes” This time he said it in a serious voice.

“But I-I don’t think I can, Noah” I look at him wishing he could see me.

“Yes, you can, tell me what you see when you look at me” He says very soft like a feather floating down.

“Okay” I answer quietly. He then smiles largely again. I reopen my notebook that I started when Noah was in the hospital, when I learned he was going to be blind for the rest of his life, it’s filled with scenes and poems just for him. I found the very middle one I wrote one night, and planned to never read it to him but that changed. “A head carved out of gold painted by angel, a nose of witch but perfectly fitted in the middle of the square jaw, small round ears pressed lightly against the sides of the newly carved face. Years of ruffled from his sleepless nights. Two small caterpillars lay apart below his wrinkle free forehead but above the nose. Pearl lips carved lightly and gently fluffed like a pillow. Two eyes once filled up with Poseidon deep blue sea now glisten with white snowflakes and fireworks of grey, they stare at me, I thank the angel who carved this face of a walking god” I close my notebook and stare at the face, and from that face a small with tear falls. “Drip”