THREES

I walk to Mary’s wake, and on the way,
The corner where Love Lane meets Rogers Road,
I pass a shallow lot that’s newly cleared,
Triangular. The turf is brown and gray,

And near the points three trees have been cut down.
Their stumps, an inch or two above the grass,
Are sappy wet, raw-looking, and around
Each one a halo of sawdust chastely lies.

A pattern so neat suggests some natural triples:
Maybe the darkish dents on a coconut stem,
Or the eyes and mouth of a nightly staring lemur,
Even a human torso’s navel and nipples.

I choose the more transcendent trinities:
Sun, moon, earth, or atomic galaxies.

(154, June 29, 1994)

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