Someone spoke to me last night,
told me the truth. Just a few words,
but I recognized it.
I knew I should make myself get up,
write it down, but it was late,
and I was exhausted from working
all day in the garden, moving rocks.
Now, I remember only the flavor —
not like food, sweet or sharp.
More like a fine powder, like dust.
And I wasn’t elated or frightened,
but simply rapt, aware.
That’s how it is sometimes —
God comes to your window,
all bright light and black wings,
and you’re just too tired to open it.

5 Comments Add yours

  1. Jenny says:

    “all bright light and black wings”. A perfect poem. Thanks for sharing!

    1. Sigrun says:

      my pleasure!

  2. Love her work. I took a class with her in grad school!

    1. omstreifer says:

      Ha! Lucky you!
      I discovered her work through “The Poet’s Companion: A Guide to the Pleasures of Writing Poetry”, which I am happily reading at the moment.

      1. Oh, that’s a lovely book. She had just published it when I took the class with her and Kim Addonizio.

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