If Jacob wrestled with his angel,
perhaps Mary wrestled with hers.
We know the resolution,
the acceptance. Yet there is
no moment by moment account,
no time lapse photography,
no witness. For acquiescence
is earned—the stillness
that follows the ripples
of the stone’s throw, the quiet
after the storm. Surely,
each painting, each canvas,
captures the moment after—
the message rehearsed,
the curtain drawn, light from afar
streaming in where, only
moments earlier, a shadow
obscured Mary’s downcast face.
“How can this be?”
Four simple words
to reflect the journey’s
unexpected twists and turns.
The tug and pull of life
towards light: sun and shadow’s
alternating rhythm.

While light streams in the doorway,
Mary sweeps the star dust trailed
by her visitor’s feet.
Likewise, every morning,
wings of rose descend on mesas:
Each daybreak, a mirror image
of the physics of light
dazzles on the horizon:
earth, a mirror
for the sun.
Where wildflowers grow skyward,
rock breaks itself
grain by grain
to provide the clay
through which the sun, our star,
gathers the green.

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