Listen to the lack of messages. Let the lack
Wash over you. Ourselves aside, this seems
Like anything but an ominous cosmos.
The distant rhythm of a raven’s throat,
Which would be obnoxious were it up close,
And the much more distant fading rumble
Of a passenger jet, which would be a scream
On approach, both drop away into nothing.
Neither one was saying anything. Divination,
True divination, surrenders planned futures
To all the meaningless sounds in passing
And understands the best prediction is change,
Change, message-less change, more and more
Of the same saying nothing and never the same.
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