Triangles

Triangles

You and I
speak
of Euclid,
of geometry
and quickly
find our way
to triangles.
You say
"the sum of
interior angles
must equal
180 degrees."
"And yet,"
I remind you
needlessly,
"triangles
manifest
in infinite ways."
"Equilateral,"
you say—
"with oddly
equitable sides."
"Surely rare,"
I add.
"Right triangles,"
I proclaim,
and usher
Pythagoras in—
the old Greek
quaking in his
timelessness.
We three
recite
the rigid
law of squares
and marvel
at the birth
of trigonometry.

Yet you seem
more interested
in oddish angles—
and delight
in scalene,
acute,
and best of all
obtuse.
"Moreover,"
you point out,
while donning
galoshes,
"even those
with two arms
that grow
boundlessly
cannot exist
without a third,
though it may shrink
to nearly nothing."

"And, if
it vanishes,
what might
you call
the two remaining
sides?"
I ask,
of the resulting
emptiness.