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.