stained glass with sunlight streaming, a single rivulet, a single tear, slips silently down the bridge of a nose to fall silently to the tip of another. eyes meet while hands continue to cradle the face of the accused, the prosecuted, the expatriate of vagrants: three words, blooming like delicate flowers from deep emerald vines that grow freely and climb the trunks of trees with more nimbleness than the lost boys themselves, three words, gliding like the lone droplet from the lips of the holder, descending to the ears of the held, and they rang out as much as a whisper could, among dancing dust and gentle breath, "you are forgiven."