no man has seen him, but
when here, when making his grand appearance
the world prepares for him.

the trees are first to bow down,
bending their trunks and shedding their leaves
and swaying about their roots to royalty

the half-damp clothes on hanging bamboos prepare
with its fabric flapping to play a fanfare,
then sound off with a fluttering finale as he whistles by and leaves.

the angled windows then, as if by unanimous consent,
slam themselves painfully into perfectly parallel
posture – like soldiers in a straight file.

and in mirthful defiance, a wandering page of the news leapt
and caught the wind like a kite, riding the city
on its crests and troughs