It's Still Life

3s

We’re rolling dice,
and it’s coming up 3s.
Oddness coming up
everywhere, and

there’s a skull on my
doctor’s desk,
2 eyes and 1 nose,
again holes in oddly 3s.

And I saw a child,
a ghost in a shroud,
2 rounds for eyes
and one for its mouth.

Is it an omen,
these very oddly 3s.
Threes and threes and
3 steps on my garden path.

Apples on the tree, and
only 3 are left. And there,
did you hear that —
3 knocks at my door.

And the breeze bristles
through the wind chimes,
3 triangles tied in a line.
Omens all, oddly in 3s.

Poetic Asides Day 3: Triangles