Dust by Dorianne Laux

Dust

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.