Hurricanes, Tornadoes, Sudden Silence in the Middle of a Mob, Etc: All Acts of God to Be Determined

I want to know that 
someone here in the crowd reads minds.

That someone saw the seal 
rise with the waves

and swim straight toward them 
with a message from God.

I want to see 
the whole terminal break down weeping 
when the light hits the silent asphalt 

after the electrical storm.

I want my heart to 
break a gash in the wall 
and see water pour out,
glimmering waves to lift us, 

drown our inner feed, 
make us play or fight for life.

I want you, unknowable one, 
to know that you are known.

And seen.

This earthquake, 
hallelujah, 
was for me.

And for you, 
if you looked up and out.

If you let your core 
be shaken; be held; 

be moved by the unseen lover
that came to Psyche in the night.
 
You walk in a myth, 
but do you believe its stricture?

Why is flight only possible as you sleep,

sweating out your gravity?

I will not tell you what to do.

The body next to you on the bus, in the line,
heading toward you on a suicide mission 
can give you the words.

Their syllables shimmer 
in the grand halls and crannies

that lead to your hiding place,

calling you out.

To get up, 
to open your mouth.

 To say nothing
and be fed.

 And be known.