Perhaps the triangle
BY Jim Bohen
Perhaps the triangle
lived in the first incredibly hot dot of everything,
in the first spot that went incredibly bang;
perhaps its idea
was inherent, even necessary.
Perhaps the shape of a tree
or a hand or a sail was there —
in potential, waiting,
part of a coiled spring
in no hurry to uncoil
because it knows that
once a rock starts down a hill
it must roll to the bottom.
Perhaps the virus,
perhaps pain and death and suffering
were all remembered or presaged
or almost imagined —
sitting outside of time,
waiting to be born.
Perhaps my eyes or your eyes winked once
inside a gathering cloud
of gaseous dark and dust,
ready to ignite.
Perhaps we were foretold,
perhaps we were intended.
Perhaps the accidental light
that salts our universe,
that forms clusters and eddies and strings
so large our brains ache trying to grasp them,
perhaps all of it was once a dream
dreamt in a green land
under blue skies
with a perfect wind
that we were never meant to know.