Dust By Dorianne Laux

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 your just too tired to open it.