Fumbled over my fingers, under
a gaze only half-here, the copper disks
that make a slowest mountain of wealth
speak of meanings, numbers and herstory.
Lincoln never smiles nor raises his chin
he led us in life and after led us still
now still he reminds there was greatness in courage
strength when withstanding the gale
and the best of us when love of truth rises
above the lines of present sight. We soar
over the arch of a wished for time;
when we would be better than we could imagine.
Below my bearded friend in his most familiar silhouette
are the numbers of this and other lives.
Remembered some and discovered others
times that search the spirits for the present echoes
of past agreement; for we are truly lost now
if we cannot share this eternal wish, to be true to self
and every other human.
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