That iron cloud is not a sign,
Nor is the bird at your window,
Nor the twenty on the sidewalk.
If the stars have information,
It’s information about stars,
Not portents for your tomorrows.
The skies swarm with plenty to say,
But they’re signals you sent up there
You’re now decoding for yourselves.
If the lights change, if the day twists,
There’s no hidden meaning struggling—
Just you, and you mean everything.