Annunciation

The art misleads
Across centuries,
Its European light,
Soft foliage,
Pale golden stone
A gentler brightness
Than the harsh
Blue sky
The glaring whites,
The angular palms
Of my human world.

I did not sit
Blue-clad,
Cool,
Suspended
In passive innocence.
Blue sucked colour
From my dark skin.
In my rose-brown shift,
Rough, old,
Sweat-soaked
By roof-chores
Under
The relentless sun,
I was ambushed
By unimaginable choice.

The messenger, too,
Was wingless.
Clothed, yes,
Beautiful,
But no gorgeous youth.
Clad in all-colour,
No-colour,
Glowing impression
More than man.

The words,
The message,
Were as described,
Save only
That he spoke
Not aloud
But in the sudden
Silence
That drowned my heart
In fear,
Doubt,
Bliss,
A sword-thrust’s pain,
And drove
From my soul
That all-changing
Yes.

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