There are knowable numbers too As when the primrose reveals the six in its heart But the number imprinted on my heart Is a darker business. Say this: the pulse of pain is a cycle of five. And you have not said all. The mighty wind blows from the 8 to the 7 thru the Tower called God's house What signature shapes the vector of the breath flowing outward? There is a smoke that arises from the heart a pillar of cloud of the Will & we move toward the Good like the stars, like young rams, like a god who yearns to be himself & frighten no one.