annunciation

It is not always joy

that is announced to you

in the mundane light.

Not always a wing

or a flood of new knowledge

delivering its atoms of change

to your body.

Sometimes it is

a wound delivered,

just as plainly as in those

paintings, her head tilted

up or down, in some angle

of understood responsibility.

No fanfare in the room

other than some structure inside

made flat

by what you have received,

the heart a putty-colored

folding chair knocked

to the ground.

And the room itself emptied,

this is part of the recognition.

The room a wound,

the light a wing on the floor,

the atoms of dust

in the shaft. And the quiet,

that is grief’s appetite.

~ Rick Barot

with thanks to Cerise Press

art by van gogh