everything is

happening all at once

like transparent stars transposed over—

like layers of lights and sounds reverberate—

singing the gospel woven into the fiber of being,

of what was, of what is, of what will be.

Do you speak to me through corvids,

or through the hums of bees?

Do you visit me through brief dreams

as an aquamarine friend of mine

longing to tell me that you are here?

Forgive the overlapping parallels of space-time,

that I can only divine uncertain futures'

footsteps, fingertips, echoes of words—

the ones Time tries to keep from me.

Can you show me— are you here, Now,

in a fractioned, far-off future further,

where this pressure against my lips is entropy

not just whispered into the dark ether?

Please speak to me through the corvids!

Please speak to me through the bees!

And forgive my synchronicity, unintelligible,

and my fallible visions and their honeyed call—

your gospel I hear when I shut my eyes tightly.