I'll read two more poems.
I'll just finish this series with a poem called
"The Annunciation," when Mary tries
to talk about what happened when whatever happened.
Even if I don't see it again, nor ever feel it, I know it is,
and that if once it hailed me, it ever does.
And so it is myself I want to turn in that direction,
not as towards a place, but it was a tilting within myself
as one turns a mirror to flash the light to where it isn't.
I was blinded like that and swam in what shone at me.
Only able to endure it by being no one.
And so specifically myself, I thought
I'd die from being loved like that.