Days on the Mountain

Last night

the face of the moon was ragged.

And I did not need to turn over

the remains of your Turkish coffee cup

this morning

to speak of the coming days;

Fortuna's lines were drawn

with the first sip.

The old water heater was making a sad

wailing noise

interrupted by silences,

as if lamenting a death

or the soft cry of an animal in pain.

You always told me to look

for the signs of the universe

everywhere

in the simplest of places.

It talks to us, you said,

and sometimes we can hear it

but the words take strange shapes,

like a spider on a wall,

or a piece of string

crawled up and twisted

lying innocently, on the floor.

Yesterday, there was a mild earthquake

and the couch I was sitting on

rocked, gently

back and forth.

At first, I thought it was my heart

trying to shake me back

into one repose, or another.

But it was a nod from earth;

an agreement of sorts..