An Autumn Called Evan, by Deborah Klane

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Chapter 11 A Language All His Own

Glimmers

One heart, one soul, one will all trapped.

Trapped within a fragile, yet impenetrable shell.

Glimmers, glimpses, shimmers are all we get to see of the
  beacon burning inside.

A smile in recognition, a gaze to choose, a grip of love
Lets us know the beacon glows from within.

A continuous, loving touch, caressing the shell over time.

Will it wear the shell away, letting the light shine through?

No one knows.