One day I found an angel in the attic.
He wasn't so beautiful, not lying there
His face draped with cobwebs, the
Empty eyes unseeing,
Filmed with dust.
A family of mice had made a home
In his hair, and as I watched
A long-legged spider crawled across
The paper moon of face, stilt-legs
Casting wraithlike shadows,
Mimicking animated life.

Not my stained-glass savior, no,
Finding me and lifting me
Fluidly through the crust of reality
And mis-matched socks.
His bird's wings were curled beneath him,
Dead, and I knew
This swallow would never fly again.
He must have fallen, I thought,
An ember cast from
Above the wisps of dream-clouds;
Now there were only ashes.
So I turned and walked away,
Snuffed out the guttering candle,
And forgot.