Secret Signs Poem by anais vionet

How well I know this place, I'm trapped in these interiors.
I refuse to step on cracks and I avoid the hateful mirrors.

I'm watching like a cat the many motions of the heavens.
I'm straining like a witch to extend my intuition.

I'm looking for hidden patterns in odd numbers that show up.
I'm sorting out the tea leaves that my mom leaves in her cup.

I'm sure I hear the whispering of the moon on predawn walks.
I think I'd hear the angels - should one decide to talk.

Oh, God, I need some answers - I've become a hopeless mess -
show me secret signs or release it to the press.

You know I wait impatiently, with several billion friends,
for my vaccine miracle - when will this virus end? !