Blades and cogs and coins alight on my carpet,
the one which I purchased from the courtyard vendor:
his name is Copper, for the wire

An orange beard stain'd by rusting iron, white
by nature for his age - eyes sharp and gray,
like black smoke from the pyre

My home is back behind a long-forgotten throne,
atop chipped flagstones carved from the riverbed,
the one which we call Hyena; the first name is long lost

Hunting dogs from towns far and wide gone wild in the heat,
children kept high on shoulders  - we rather the sun than
the dogs' sparkling teeth

Twisted aspens and birch among the rains, turning
green like veins of jade beneath our feet -
axes shattered from our forefathers, unusable on stone,
our only defense is our teeth and bone

Skies span blue and brown in season,
sands stirred up in far the east,
I blame the winds here and again:
dust killed my mother back there and then