if true.... the numbers

we are all related to constantine
then that
and three fold
finds your labors
through eyes
Chris-crossed and smeared
from brine
cast from your shores
the full of all that's
seen
through endless little eyes
and set to memory
perhaps new imprints on the dna
of being
filed
delivered
to all generations
yet to come
all things
all ways
always
all we share in numbers
too fine
too vast
too hard
to see
but held
as ours was held
to speak again
in sign
and rhyme
or matin's time
nothing's lost
fragments gained
for all those meant to scour
quest
the darkest caves
n underworlds
worn paths of setting sons
the poet
stands
as
the Magician card
drawn from the past
the deep
the earth
raised to the coming
map migrations
pointing to the
stars
me thinks
its all about the means
and maps
and paths
and quests
to verges of the soul
beyond our petty whins and groans
the eyes of all catch glimpses through
the I of we
as if to see
through veils of less than
valued
gold or faigned integrity
the crossing and the whoosh of wings
observes the prism lights
it brings
a witness to the songs they sing
though dire
or false or true
blatant in the new
viewed finer
siftings of the grains of sand
fine filiments of life expands
upon the single breath of all
a single birdie call
tremelous and shrill
waking
eons
while we caste a shadow
as a place to rest
more eons til the next and coming breath
another death