What I Want

I don't know what
the eggshell knows.
I guess mostly nest
and bird butt.
What I want lingers
beyond the shell, the windows
are all open and air
pushes air through.
Listen to the breath
of my wife washed ashore, asleep,
the soundless television
bathing her in flourescent tide.
The clock on the wall
turns a click at a time.
The chicken in the slow cooker
will be hot enough tomorrow morning.
On which end of the event
is the prophecy? Have things happened
because of what I will do?