Hello Constantine,

Not the Great Roman Emperor

in love with Christ

but the little Russian boy

who sits on a stool in his father's

shoe repair shop

watching his fingers turn

to leather reaching for his eyebrows

and finding long laces to wrap

around his small ankles

his quiet hands.

A soldier walks on Constantine

to Budapest, as the soul of Constantine

becomes thinner and thinner,

until he can feel the snow

through his chest.

Or so that's how I imagine it.

Handing a plum to little Constantine

sitting on a stool in his fathers shoe shop,

begging me silently for more plums.