Annunciation

Before it happens, she’s wrapped in her sheets, books
disarrayed in the cabinet behind where
she leans toward the book on her knee, looking
perhaps for some line half forgotten or
searching for a spell to make him love her till
she can’t stop shaking, or perhaps some recipe
to make this sudden nimbus go away or
to undo the volumes she’s swaddled in. And
here’s the angel fumbling with the door, his skirts
so heavy he’s squat, he’s going to tie her up
with that banner of words, he’s going to make her
sorry she ever left her bed for that book.

. . .

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