I tell you
I’m not good at
living in unprecedented times.
You say the Universe has a very big voice.
It speaks to us through some kind of
spirit ear; we have only to listen.
So I place my ear against the springtime earth.
I think there might be a rumbling: the sound
change makes when it’s birthing.
On the other side of my window
white-tipped buds on the serviceberry tree
tremble with imminent blooms.
I tell you
In the worst kind of horror movie
everything looks normal
but it’s not.