So I make my crown,

From dead leaves and the fogs sorrow

And cast my kingdom

To be among the fallen pines,

And the abandoned animal dens



I do not have wealth

My subjects vast and scattered

My eyes dark as the tree trunks

My teeth as brown as the sap



My hands hold my sword

Made from weeping limbs

That I guide towards a sun

That never seems to set on me



And in this place,

Can I feel this peace

Some illusion of content

A fractured dream of stability