Triplicate

As for the third,
try not to anticipate
which face of fortune's cube
will tumble next.

Spectres of memory flicker
from windows and mirrors as you pass,
slide over chrome bumpers and door handles.
Glimpses of what was, or what may be.

Kiss the hem of her gown
and future will glide into fresh
and reassuring patterns.

Something to awaken the moon,
fragmented shells of half-formed wishes
moulded from an orb where all your past
coalesces into the birth of now.