Cusp

The angel is a column of light In Tanner's "Annunciation." 
 No discernible shape of wings, no halo, no raiment  

but for a sheer wash of bright yellow falling from
a skylight. Without instruction on how to read 

this alteration in the atmosphere, I'd look 
like her too. Against the rumpled linens, feet 

unshod, nails untrimmed; the clamor of the domestic 
hardly a wall away—how would you tell a story you know 

will not be believed? Everyone will say you can't shape 
a thing without touching or feeling. But how do you refuse 

being chosen, when it promises a sort of agency?
Outside, plots of flowers open in the morning and tuck 

themselves in at night, the condition of being seen equal 
to the desire for solitude and the sound of one heartbeat.