I don’t believe in all
the same thing
but in repetition, yes,

surely, yes. A shaky faith
in the rule of three:

trinity, a flowering
shrub here, and here,
and there. Then

against the glowback
of the familiar, the odd
answer appears—

a single daffodil
or hyacinth’s nub, middle
of midweek.

And in between—
I don’t believe

I don’t believe