“Ky is heavy in my mind, deep in my heart, his palms warm on my empty hands. I have to try to find him. Loving him gave me wings and all my work has given me the strength to move them.”

“I wanted to run, but I couldn't leave Ky. And I didn't want him to hear the sounds of people trying to save the man, or how Ky's own breathing sounded labored.So I crouched down in front of Ky and covered one of his ears with my shaking hand, and then I leaned right up close to his other ear and I sang to him. I didn't even know I knew how.”

“But my father goes on."And I've noticed other things,too.I think you're in love with Ky Markham.I think you want to find him,wherever he's gone.”

“Much as I love looking at the stars, I never learned to guide by them. I mark my course by people; Xander, a point in the map, my parents, another point; Ky, the final destination. When Xander moves, the geography of everything changes.”

“I love you."lightning. Once it has forked, hot-white, from sky to earth, there is no going back.It's time. I feel it, I know it. My eyes on him, his on me, and both of us breathing, watching, tired of of waiting. Ky close his eyes, but mine are still open. what will it feel like, his lips on mine? Like a secret told, a promise kept? Like that line in the poem-a shower of all my days- silvery rain falling all around me, where the lighting meets the earth? The whistle blows below us and the moment breaks. We are safe.For now.”

“My words never last long. I have to destroy them before anyone sees them. But. I remember them all. For some reason, the act of writing them down makes me remember. Each word I write brings me closer to finding the right ones. And when I see Ky again, which I know will happen, I will whisper the words I have written in his ear, against his lips. and they will change from ash and nothing into flesh and blood.”

“Why won't you hold me?" I ask, drawing back a little.He laughs a little, holds out his hands as if in explanation. They are covered in dirt and paint and blood.I pull his hand to mine, put my palm against his. I can feel the grit of sand, the slick of paint, and the cuts and scrapes that speak of his own journey."It will all come clean," I tell him.”