Kingdoms

The king has no memory
that we were robbed
of metaphors.

Dense amnesia envelops
the slave-child.
The present

would soon be lived through
(but he’d forget).
And the kingdom

has guided channels
serving anaesthetic
to a select few

who feel.

Today, unguarded,
at sundown fled
prisoners

of war
into forests
bearing familiar names

on raw, peevish barks.
Perhaps the Druids
still pray for us.