signs sing.
before my eyes.
signs sing
for only my ears.
signs sing
everywhere.
signs sign
potent symbols
bees on telephone poles
turtles on necks, and shoes
signs sign
their timeless harmony lilting from the piano
to the guitar
signs point
to the weaving of webs
and the telling of story
signs sign
a medicine beyond the counter
and underneath the clutter
signs sing
and I'm still learning how to
mix more quickly the powerful metaphor,
and the meaningful synchronicity.
"Urgency is not helpful," she reminds me,
as I walk her to the stairs of the city college,
where more friendly faces await.
"There's something about you and information," Cara said yesterday,
as I randomly stopped in to her Leucadian place of business.
She offered me a reading - a mirror reflection sent by the Universe.
And I honor the mystery - lifting my shoulders, my palms upturned toward the sky.
"I don't know what any of it means," I speak,
"and that's okay by me."
I figure I'll find out soon enough.
Because the signs sing and the singing signs
say, "THIS IS IT."
