For Samuel Mockbee
The depleted king leaves schematics for a new castle
yours and mine
a castle against the sky
and not for to disparage the paupers and plebes
the king was our architect
so we study the plans dumb to their language of good geometry
and things falling from the sky
we build with what we find
feathers and bells
cowshit and tires
beads and steel
bones and antlers
we build through the night
in the light of kerosene and propane
dirty dusky light, sepia light
like the pictures of our bankrupt king
our castle is a spire
a single spike of steel and rock
a needle in the earth rising to scrape the moon
we carry the bells we have to the floors we can’t count
only the orbiting birds hear the dull tolls
like last gasps
we live together in our tower
and our laundry is our flag we wave for the bankrupt king
bearded below the brown dirt.
Header photo by Tom, courtesy Pixabay.
