An angelic child looks on with chubby cheeks
cupped in its hands. A picture on a stationary box
fished out of the trash. They're everywhere.
The stained glass seraph hovers above the window too.
It doesn't say much. A wish was directed to it once
but denied. At least, that's what it seemed. One October,
two writers united under its pearly wings, but their flow
was halted. It was protective --but a little too
overbearing? I don't think so. Its silence is my rock.