Christmas in July

by Camilla Jean Welsch

He was seated,

rather enthroned,

atop his mother’s graceful arm

(her profile withheld),

(his father standing quietly aside, working with eyes cast down),

and I beheld the radiance

of his sun-rayed soul

and eyes of clarity,

one hand high,

his fingertips suggesting the above.

My heart rushed in my head,

dizzying my marveling eyes,

which then played upon

that invisible pattern

of stained glass,

emanating fluidly

from his lovely countenance:

blue with bright yellow accent,

not unlike the effect

of sun shining through water,

on that fruitful day

in late July.

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