Wind, gale force
but tiny, lasting
less than a minute,

three seconds at most,
raising alarm for
just that long.

Three people
— a poet, a television star,
a rock star enfeebled

by age and illness —
die and make the news
unlike thousands,

ten thousand others,
who die unnoticed
except for the people

who know them.
It always comes
in threes —

three seconds of wind,
three seconds of notable dying,
three seconds of seeing and feeling

what is happening,
at least for me. It always
comes in threes:

things I notice.
I hold my breath waiting
for more, every time.

They happen, of course.
Thousands
of things happen.

I shake myself free
of wind, of deaths,
of counting.

In three seconds
there will be more.
Four, five…many more;

I fall into it,
close my eyes,
wait.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
T