Worshipped if we turn two letters around, and see you as false gods, as you are false suns, rainbow reflections in crystals of ice. Better as the glimpsing of haloes, the side panels of the sky’s dressing table mirror, each image calling back to one before. Or maybe Anne’s Gog and Magog, hounds of hell now sanctified and guarding heaven’s hearth. Bright eternal wedding bands, frozen spectrums, and a sign of ancient vows, as well as proof that even light can be fractured, and that angels do have wings.
Photo and text © Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2017